Backwards Thinking
by this-bright-eyed-soul
Summary: Harry Potter has an empty feeling after he wins the war, and turns to the memories of one Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr for something to do. He soon finds an interest - he doesn't belong in this timeline now he's fulfilled the prophecy, and is out to seek a new friend, who will soon become a little more than that... Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, involves time travel, will get intimate
1. Chapter 1

Harry was lonely, if he was truly honest with himself. Yes, he had Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Molly, George, even Ginny still spoke civilly with him from time to time, and yes that _ought_ to be enough, but… Harry wanted _more_ out of his life. He wanted someone special. And though he hated to admit it – the thought sent a cold shudder through his body – the soul fragment from Voldemort had made him feel a little more compete. Of course, he hated the monster still, a decade after having defeated him. But logically, Harry could understand why this had happened. Ten years, with nobody to form an attachment with, locked in a cupboard each night… he could understand why he had, without ever realising it until that piece of soul had gone, bonded with that small slither of Lord Voldemort. Hermione would probably understand it. Ginny might also, having had a similar experience with a different fragment of the very same soul. But Harry didn't think that anybody else would. So he kept it to himself.

This night, however, wandering the dark an empty halls of Hogwarts, he was finally going to do something about it. It was his birthday, and yes, his friends had showered him in gifts and good will, but they had left him alone once again, albeit reluctantly. His plan was mad. Madder than any plan he had ever made before. But he was desperate. McGonagall had allowed Harry access to all Dumbledore had left, with a stern warning to take good care of the items but a soft understanding glint to her eyes. What Harry was most interested in, were the memories. Over and over and over, Harry would replay each one of the memories surrounding Tom Marvolo Ridde Jr, including his own, in chronological order. At first, it had been in an attempt to understand how the child became the monster. Harry couldn't believe that anyone was born a monster. But the more Harry begun to understand Riddle, the more he became fascinated with him, even obsessed, and pitied the poor boy and felt his heart ache for how the world had treated him. What Harry was second most interested in, was the time-turner. Supposedly the last remaining time-turner in existence, but Harry very much doubted that.

For the past 8 years, Harry had spent every moment he had to himself searching and searching through books, learning about time magic, memory magic, and the theories of dimensions. A lot of it had been very difficult to understand, but Harry had access to the Black libraries and Hogwarts library, and there were even some tomes in the Potter vaults, and eventually, he was able to start constructing a way to cure the empty feeling in his heart.

Harry was almost certain that when he went back in time, a new Universe would be created. He would be removed from his own, causing heartbreak and panic that he was most certainly done thinking about, and placed in another, with a future yet to be shaped. And he was almost certain that he could do it – he was a powerful wizard, when it came down to it, and he had been preparing his trip for a very long time. So as he entered the empty headmistress's office and found the secret door through which he kept the necessary materials, he wasted no time getting started on his charm. Only half an hour later, Harry found himself several decades in the past, in a dark crevice between two shops in Knockturn Alley. Feeling for the destroyed locket in his cloak pocket, he stepped out, hood up, and headed towards Borgin and Burkes. As expected, Tom Riddle was still in the shop towards the very end of opening hours. Harry entered, and watched as Tom raised his head.

"Pardon me sir, we're just about to close so if-" the sentence cut sharply as his eyes shot to the locket dangling from Harry's finger, a fury burning within, barely concealed by his usual charm.

A second had passed before Tom reached for his wand and found it had already been taken from him. Harry was quicker this time to cast a silent immobulus at the man and throw his cloak over him, sure that he had the upper hand, already being incredibly familiar with Tom's magic, whereas Tom had no idea who Harry was. He then disapparated them to the opening of a cave he was sure that Tom would recognise immediately.

Harry could feel Tom's wandless magic pushing against the restraints, and was mildly impressed, but had been prepared for it. He conjured them both chairs to sit on, and heaved a sigh as they were finally settled. Tom, unsurprisingly, looked furious, but Harry could also see a hint of fear.

"Let me introduce myself, Tom Marvolo Riddle" he started. "My name is Harry Potter. I was born on the 31st of July, 1980, to Lily Evans, an incredibly talented muggle-born, and James Potter. On the 31st of October 1981, however, my house was intruded upon by a dark wizard who went by the name of Lord Voldemort. He killed both my parents, but when he pointed his wand at me, the killing curse rebounded and hit him, leaving me with this scar."

Harry gestured to his scar, and observed as the faint traces of shock turned to confusion, and more fear. Tom remained silent, but it was obvious that he was angry at Harry for even knowing the name Voldemort, but a glint of understanding was present, already catching on to the idea of time travel, knowing what he had planned to be.

Harry had his story almost memorised – he had spent a lot of time going over in his head what he wanted to say to the man – and before long, he was done with his story from his birth, to the very last spell that defeated his Voldemort. Tom stared. His mind had clearly been working at immense rates, trying to understand what exactly Harry was telling him, and whether or not he believed the other man. Trying to get his head round the idea of his death, too; something that he had been working so hard to prevent.

"That locket you have…" he started, staring suspiciously at Harry. "Is that from your timeline or mine?"

"It's from my timeline. I didn't want to destroy any of your soul this time around." Tom looked relieved despite his expression remaining still. "Not that I wouldn't consider it if it became necessary."

"You managed to kidnap me." His voice was low, now. "How?"

"I spent a lot of time preparing for this day – years, even. I had access to every memory there was of you as a child, and every one of my own from you as Lord Voldemort. And you wouldn't like to think that your average wizard would be able to defeat somebody as powerful as you at the age of 17, would you?"

Tom pursed his lips.

"Anyway, I have a house prepared. You won't be trapped there forever, so don't worry; just enough time for me to get to know you and for you to get to know me." Harry said lightly.

"You're trying to make me good then, are you?" Tom sneered, sounding as if he wanted to spit the taste of the word out of his mouth. "I could've guessed that from the moment you said 'Gryffindor'."

"No, I'm not." Harry murmured, this time. "I'm just lonely. And you may well discover that you are too. There could be something to gain from this."

Tom said nothing more, and Harry proceeded to stun the man before apparating him to the house.

 _Let me know what you think! Bit of a grey start, I know, because there's nothing romantic about kidnap let's all be honest, but it'll pick up._


	2. Chapter 2

Tom blinked a few times, clearing his head, and stared up at the ceiling. No, not the ceiling, this was the canopy of an _incredibly_ nice bed…

' _Where am I?_ ' he thought, confused for a moment, until he remembered Harry Potter. Anger coursed through his veins. The Boy Who Lived, he'd apparently been called. How had this man been able to defeat him at such a young age? Surely, if not even Dumbledore could defeat him – Harry Potter had said so – a 17 year old couldn't? But he had been a special 17 year old, chosen by a prophecy, and of course he had a lot of help, especially from Dumbledore himself. If one thing was certain, as soon as Tom was out of this place, he was putting extra security on all his horcruxes. Perhaps he had become in such a deranged state because of how many horcruxes he'd created… Harry Potter being one of them. Fascinating, a human as a horcrux. He never considered that it might be possible, though from what Harry Potter had told him, it's not a particularly good idea. He only had three horcruxes currently, and though Harry Potter knew about them, nobody else did, and he didn't get the impression the man would spread the word, so three would be safe. He certainly wanted to keep his head – his mind was his gift, even more so than magic, and to waste it in desperation for immortality would be a sin. Yes, it had been a childish dream of his to have seven, but he did not have a need to satisfy foolish past promises. That being said, being trapped in whatever place _this_ was would be a sin. Tom did not like the idea of being trapped where he didn't even have the support of his followers.

After lying in contemplation for a while longer, Tom finally got up and left the bed. No wand in sight. _'Fuck'_. Not that he was that bad with wandless magic. He would be fine. There was two doors in the dark room, one shut, and one wide open, leading into what appeared to be a bathroom. One the dresser at the end of a bed was a pile of folded clothes with a note on top of them.

" _Hope you slept well, Tom. There's more clothes in the dresser and supplies in the bathroom. Breakfast is at 9 – turn left, down the stairs, first room on the right. Harry._ "

Right then. Tom looked at the ornate clock on the bedside table. It said 8. He went for a shower, using a wandless locking charm on both the doors in the room. Then at 9, sharp, he was at the door of the dining room. This room was a lot lighter, with two large windows at one end, facing a seemingly never-ending landscape of hills and fields. Harry Potter was already there, sat with the newspaper up, but he could tell the man knew he was there.

"Harry Potter. Where is my wand?"

The man lifted his head slightly from the paper. "I'll give it you back when you've settled in. Sit down and get something to eat."

Tom was not happy with the answer, and was tempted to respond with a violent bout of wandless magic, but from the night before he suspected that that may result in failure and even greater lack of trust, so he sat down and took some of the food set out onto the table. Harry Potter didn't make a comment at Tom's wandless checking charm if he noticed it. The man was apparently not trying to poison him. That was promising.

"How is it that you have access to a house if you are not from this timeline?" Tom asked, after some time.

"I researched the Potter properties before I came, this place accepts my blood and magic, the rest of the Potter family have nearly forgotten about it. It's basically abandoned."

Harry Potter passed the Daily Prophet to Tom once he'd finished reading it, and he glanced over it. A load of rubbish, as per usual.

"What was the orphanage like?" Harry Potter blurted out, suddenly.

Tom felt himself go stiff, and he could tell from the softening of Harry Potter's eyes that this was noticeable. Clearly this man knew exactly how to break Tom's emotionless image.

"I know it's a, um, _sensitive_ issue" Harry Potter started, "but I want to know. You don't have to answer straight away."

Tom sighed, internally. If he was going to be in situation for a while, he may as well talk, or else it was going to become very boring, despite how furious he was at Harry Potter for keeping him captive. And this man knew enough about him anyway, there was no point in trying to preserve his image – there was no knowing how much he already knew.

"It was cold," he started, with an almost bored sounding voice. Harry Potter didn't do anything but tilt his head slightly, to indicate that he was listening. "That was one of the first things I remember from it. My room was cold, grey, and empty, apart from a bed and a wardrobe. The other thing I remember from the very start, was the bullying. All orphans bully each other, of course, but I was different. Muggles don't understand us, they fear us, knowing that we are superior to them, so as soon as they have the upper hand, they attack us. I was both physically and verbally abused for as long as I can remember. Occasionally I would be able to get my own back with my accidental magic, but it was incredibly difficult to control as much as I wanted to, and so it only made the bullying worse.

"Mrs Cole was a careless alcoholic, and the children received only basic care. Woole's Orphanage didn't have much money. It was isolating. I had no friends – there were no friends. The food was dull and cold. There isn't much more to say really. It was an orphanage."

"It damaged you." Not a question, a statement.

"It strengthened me. I learnt from an early age not to depend on others – I haven't got that weakness."

Harry Potter looked almost pitying. "It's not a weakness, Tom. I defeated you, strengthened by love. Your lack of it was your downfall."

Tom tried to respond, but Harry Potter continued talking.

"Wizards were never very good at developing their society, but muggles created a study into the human mind – they call it psychology. You know this, of course, but at this period of time it's not as far on as I witnessed in my childhood. By my time, they'd made the discovery that to go on to be successful, you _need_ to have love as an infant, as a child. It's important Tom, as much as you don't realise. But you can also recover from it."

"So you _are_ trying to make me good." Of course a supporter of Dumbledore would have such noble intentions.

"No." Harry Potter insisted once again. "But that doesn't mean you don't deserve the opportunity to find happiness. I'm just letting you know that."

Tom wasn't so convinced, but he didn't say anything more on the subject.

* * *

While Tom had been asleep, Harry set up the necessary wards around the property, so for the rest of that day he left Tom to explore – he was certain the man would appreciate the library. During Tom's introductory period, letting him settle in and get used to the situation, Harry would be establishing himself in this timeline. He'd spent a lot of time working out who he would be, whether or not he should lie about his heritage, but he'd decided that he looked too much like a Potter to lie, and he needed access to the vaults; Tom couldn't be seen associating with a man of no background with no money, after all. So, with a heavy heart, Harry changed this timeline even further with his arrival.

When he'd first looked into documents outlining the history of the Potters, he didn't think much of Charlus's disease during this period. When he had looked further into it, however, he grew more and more suspicious at the recovery. This particular disease did not have a cure – unless you know where to look. The Potters had always been a Light family, or so Harry thought, but apparently they were not afraid to delve into the darker parts of society to cure an illness they were due to die of within a few hours, and he supposed that was fair. Harry was vaguely aware that he'd indirectly contributed to the death of his grandfather by taking Tom away the night he would come looking in Borgin and Burke's for the cure – which they did have in stock – but then, it wasn't really his grandfather, was it? Not if Harry was never born in this timeline, and that was a complication he didn't want to risk. Even his father, Harry suspected that seeing him would create issues; bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time.

Harry was then able to make a trip to Gringotts, so that he could access his vaults. He was dressed smartly enough, and there was a limited store of money in the Potter property he'd taken hold of, so the goblins would likely be happy to make business with him. Stepping inside the grand building, Harry wasn't surprised to find it was much the same as in his timeline. Finding a free goblin, he greeted it with a slight bow, and said "I'd like to take an inheritance test, please". The goblin nodded minutely in return, and led Harry down to a small office.

"Wait here."

There was not much to look at in the room, so Harry made sure he was looking smart while he waited. The next goblin who walked in was a bit taller, and had a thin white beard. He looked over his small round glasses at Harry and grunted in response to the man's short bow. He walked over to the desk, opened a draw, and removed a piece of paper with a silver knife.

"Make a cut in your hand, press the blood onto the parchment. The cut will heal." The goblin said shorty.

Harry did so, and writing curved onto the parchment:

 _Hadrian James Potter_

 _Date of birth – 31st June 1980_

 _Mother – Lily Evans_

 _Father – James Potter_

 _Has access to:_

 _Potter vaults_

 _Peverell vaults_

 _Heir to:_

 _None_

The goblin grunted and muttered something distasteful about time-travellers, but retrieved the appropriate keys and handed them over to Harry. That was the great thing about goblins; no interest in wizarding society apart from the money.

"You may access the vaults at any time. Five galleons will be removed from your main vault to pay for the test. Thank you for your service."

"Thank you" Harry said, bowing to the goblin.

Next stop, the Ministry. It didn't need much to register in the Ministry as a Wizard citizen of Great Britain – in fact, you didn't need more than a Gringotts vault key as identification. Of course, there were ways and means of making sure the key actually belonged to the wizard, but they really ought to have better security in Harry's opinion. Regardless, it was useful to Harry for his trip, so he wouldn't complain. One could get away with not registering without trouble, but Harry was not concerned with the legality of it all; he wanted a quick and easy way to get it out to pureblood society that he existed, and with a place as rife with leaks as the British Ministry of Magic, it was the best place to go.

Correct in his guess that the entrance to the Ministry of Magic was the same as in his time, Harry had no trouble making his way in, which a name tag identifying his purpose as to register. Past a bored secretary with a false red smile, into a golden lift, and up to the appropriate floor, Harry spared no glance to his surroundings other than to avoid people in the heavy crowds – it was much the same, as was the entrance.

"Hello Sir, how may I help you?" asked a much brighter looking witch.

"I'd like to register with the Ministry, please" he stated with a charming smile.

The witch giggled, and Harry felt slightly bad for practicing his charm on her, but he hadn't felt happy enough to do so in years, and he really couldn't help himself; there was a glow of anticipation throughout his body which he hadn't felt since he was much younger, a feeling of hope, that this timeline would be right for him. He was allowed through into an office, and was very quickly registered into the Ministry's system.

"A Potter, eh?" said the man in a gruff voice, a port bloke with a handlebar moustache. "Sorry to hear about Charlus."

"As am I, I didn't know him well – I've spent a lot of my life elsewhere, you see. But very sad, I heard he was a wonderful man."

"You a distance relative then?"

"Not so distant in blood, but I've never been very close to the family. As I said, travelled a lot."

"Ah" the man grunted, and Harry was able to leave, confident that he was now the mysterious new relative of the late Charlus Potter to the rest of Wizarding Britain.

* * *

Tom did not want to admit that anything in his prison made him happy. But he couldn't help but be thrilled by the extensive library. He was well-read, yes, but the number of tomes in this room impressed even him. Impressed being the word until he reached the very end of the room (which had taken him over an hour). Tom had been in a trance, his mouth watering as he moved from bookshelf to bookshelf, carefully taking out books to look at their contents. Yes, he certainly would not be bored in this house. The books at the end, however, made his heart stop.

Parselscript.

He raised a shaking hand, and gentle removed one from the shelf. Without giving permission, he hissed out " _open_ ", and watched as the heavy cover lifted itself, seemingly with great effort.

 _The Secrets of the Parselmage  
_ _A dark wizard or a secret hero? The uses and strengths of parselmagic._

"I thought you might enjoy this room" came a low, almost throaty murmur.

Tom whipped around almost guiltily, and a blush grew at the closeness of Harry Potter's face, despite him doing all he could to remove emotion by putting on a stoic mask. He had been so caught up in the books that he'd allowed someone to take him by surprise, and inside he was fuming.

"I had a good look through these back in my time," Harry Potter started. "I thought you might enjoy it."

Tom sneered, still angry at the man. "Of course you would, how thoughtful."

Harry Potter just smiled. "Careful, Tom, you're allowing your emotions to show. Though I must admit I'm a little more tuned in to them than others. Obsessively watching over the memories of one person does that do you." There was a playful glint in the man's eye that Tom adamantly ignored to avoid another humiliating flush.

"Where've you been, anyway?" Tom asked curtly, arms folded, trying to pick himself back up again to his usual self. He would not let Harry Potter get to him.

"Out to get registered" he beamed. "Both in Gringotts and the Ministry."

Tom just raised an eyebrow. Harry Potter must be out of his mind to register in the Ministry if he wanted to keep low. Or maybe he didn't want to keep low. A wizard as clever as Harry Potter seemed to be – certainly powerful enough to kidnap Tom – wouldn't register at the Ministry if he wanted to stay low. Perhaps he wanted to quickly become integrated into society. Or perhaps there's some ulterior motive; Tom didn't trust Harry Potter in the slightest, nobody would be foolish enough to trust their kidnapper. And this kidnapper clearly knew what he was doing; the kidnapper of Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr couldn't be just any old wizard, though he did say so himself. Gringotts made sense, Harry Potter needed money, and as a Potter he would surely have it. So then yes, he certainly wanted to be a respected member of society. From what Tom could tell, Harry Potter wasn't planning on going back to his own timeline, he was stuck here, so he would need contacts other than just Tom. That was it then. Fairly straightforward, but Tom would keep his eye on things.

"Seriously though, those are some very interesting books. I think you'll find them enlightening." Harry Potter said, before wondering out of the room once more to leave Tom in peace.

"Enlightening…" Tom murmured, thoughtfully. Enlightening indeed.

 _Again, let me know what you think please!_


	3. Chapter 3

At dinner, Harry found himself chattering on about his life. He wasn't sure if Tom was all that interested, but surely it was better than no company at all, and Harry liked to think he wasn't awful to talk to.

"It was almost isolating, in a way, being so connected to the man I was prophesised to either kill or be killed by. I felt like it was only him and me in the world, like my friends were so much more distant. I suppose that's why, in some morbid irony, I became so lonely after I killed him. My friends remained distant to me." Harry rambled on, over a plate of pasta.

"What was he like?" Tom interrupted, eyes piercing. "The Dark Lord?"

Harry paused. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised by the question.

"He was… mad. Clever, yes, but no more clever than your average muggle villain, presumably from all the horcruxes. Terrifying. Snake-like, a hissing voice, pale, hairless skin. Beautiful in a way, yes, but mostly terrifying. I suppose that was the point. He seemed to care for nothing other than killing muggle borns and me. And Dumbledore. Obsessed with the two of us, he was. I can understand the need to eliminate us both though, to an extent. Dumbledore was powerful, and knew Voldemort's weaknesses, and certainly there was cause for a grudge; sending him back to the orphanage every year, as if he didn't know what it was like for him there, as if he didn't know what that would do. Fundamental disagreement there, I suppose he thought Voldemort was born evil. I can relate to the grudge against Dumbledore though, with my Aunt and Uncle, as much as I admired the man. And as for me, I was prophesised to destroy him, after all his hard work, so of course he wanted me gone."

"You talk about him as if he's not me" Tom pointed out.

"He's not. For a start, you're part of a different timeline. In addition to that, you're before the point of becoming _Voldemort_. You still have your calculating mind, your charms, your drive for what you think is a better world. He lost all that. Probably another reason why I came to this point at your life, you've not lost yourself. I'd rather enjoy your company before the potential is wasted on needless attempts at immortality."

Tom was silent after that, with a calculating look in his eye, and a slight frown on his brow.

* * *

When Harry wasn't out making connections (which had been going fantastically, if he didn't say so himself), he had taken to sitting in the library with Tom which was, of course, largely a silent activity, but Harry didn't mind that so much - it was actually rather nice just to hear the breathing of another when he was sat reading. Tom, he'd noticed, was taking a particular interest in the parselscript, as had Harry when he had discovered it. And unsurprisingly, Tom was seeming very contemplative at its contents; Harry had been rather amazed too when he found it. The Gaunts had clearly done an awful job at continuing the true legacy of parselmagic.

Today, however, Harry felt inclined to break the silence. A week into keeping Tom hostage, and they were getting a little more comfortable around each other - which of course meant mostly Tom had gotten more comfortable - and Harry fancied trying something new.

"Tom?" Harry asked.

There was only a raise of the eyebrow in response but Harry took that to mean the other man was listening.

"I need your advice on something"

"Go on then."

"I want to host a ball sometime next week."

Tom lifted his head from the book and stared Harry dead in the eye.

"What help do you expect from me? Do I look like a house wife to you?" he asked, looking rather unimpressed.

Harry rolled his eyes at the casual sexism. "I want to know which families I should invite" Harry clarified.

There was the hint of an amused smirk. "Ah, I see. Well, you're a Potter, so you can afford to go for some higher up families. Malfoys is a definite, and Blacks; you'll have distant family ties with those as far as they're concerned, but you'll have to be careful, there'll be suspicions that you've been hidden away as illegitimate. Lestrange is a definite, and the Longbottoms. Despite not being on it yourself you have the social right to invite any of the Sacred 28, I would argue. I would stick to pureblood families, and don't go too far out into the distant branches, just the important people. The return of a Potter after Charlus's death is, of course, big, but not worthy of an incredibly large celebration. Just play it safe and continue making the necessary connections. And remember to wear black, none of these ugly blues and reds that you insist on wearing around the place, you're supposed to be in mourning."

"Got it, thanks." Harry chuckled at the casual insult.

"Where will you be holding the ball?" Tom enquired.

"Here, the ballroom is quite sufficient I think."

"Are you not afraid of my escape? You must realise, with your knowledge of my past and future, that a large proportion of the families you intend to invite are in support of me and my plans? They may well sense my presence, as followers."

"Sense your presence? Tom, they'll _see_ you there, don't be so idiotic, you _are_ invited; how could I miss out one of the most prevalent wizards of the time? I have no fear of your escape."

Harry was mildly amused by Tom's inability to fully keep the surprise from his expression, but kept his mouth shut. No, he wasn't scared of Tom escaping. He had plans for Tom. They fell to silence again, and continued with the reading.

* * *

Tom's heart was racing the rest of that day. A ball. With the Malfoys, the Lestranges, the Blacks, with everyone. Surely he could somehow find a way to get them out. He was going to _be_ there, it should be easy. But Harry Potter was clever. It couldn't be that easy. He had time to think about it, though. Time to consider. Time to plan. He _would_ be getting out.

As much as he hated to admit even to himself, being trapped like he was, was incredibly unsettling, more so than it angered him once he'd settled in. More than that, he was scared. He'd been in control of his life since the age of 15, he estimated, and not once since then, until now, had anyone done something to him that he couldn't control. It was like being 10 again. _Knowing_ he was better than the treatment he was getting, but not being able to do anything about it. Admittedly, Harry Potter had treated him much better than the children at the orphanage, but that didn't stop the uneasy feeling. It helped to look through the library as a distraction, but every night was hellish. He slept badly before being trapped here, but more so in an unknown bed in the control of an unknown force. Even having his wand didn't make him feel safe. What Harry Potter had said the first morning, a week ago, came back to him as it kept doing. " _Damaged_ ". Perhaps he was damaged, but he was stronger now, and it was none of that fucking Gryffindor's business as much as the man seemed to want it to be.

What made it worse was that Harry Potter knew. He _knew_ Tom felt uncomfortable. Tom could tell from the sympathetic glances, the soft eyes, the reassuring tone of voice than Harry Potter knew he was suffering and was doing everything in his power to ease it, and it sickened him. It sickened him worse to see no malicious intent behind those striking green eyes – only sickening sincerity, that sickeningly _did_ ease the suffering a little. Too friendly. Tom wasn't a fool, he could see what was happening, but he was in no power to stop it. The clever bastard was allowing Tom time to _like_ him, and it was working.

He would, however, be a powerful ally. Perhaps more so than any of his other followers – Harry Potter had a strong magical core and a keen intellect that would be wasted elsewhere, and Tom knew that he would make a terrible enemy. So he had to let it happen. He had to let the attachment form, if only because Harry Potter was better on his side than not.

* * *

The ball, as it happened, was a precisely a week after Harry had asked Tom about invites. He was surprised that so many of them were able to come at such short notice, actually, but he was pleased. The ballroom had been decorated fantastically, the music was splendid; and most important of all, Tom looked absolutely ravishing. Harry had paid for a dress-maker to fit the two of them some dress-robes for the occasion, and Harry knew that Tom could not settle for second best; this was his celebration, after all. Harry was mostly excited for it, but there was a small ache at the pit of his stomach in anticipation for the end of the night.

The man in question was over on the other side of the room, making conversation with a few of his followers, one of which quite clearly being a Malfoy. Harry himself was being questioned repeatedly on his familial ties, and where he'd been, and why nobody knew of his existence. Harry, of course, had prepared for this, so it was of no concern, but it did become rather tedious. What he most enjoyed, was learning about the ancestors of his old friends. The Longbottoms were unsurprisingly quite a stiff family, but so were most of the families present. They were all still very nice, all the same.

About halfway through the ball, Tom surprised Harry by approaching him, a glint in his eye.

"Would you be so kind as to join me in this dance?" he asked, in his deep, smooth voice that had been missing the past two weeks of his captivity.

Harry had been meaning to ask him the same, so he excused himself from his present conversation, and joined the middle of the room with Tom. It was thrilling, really, to see him as himself again; Harry had noticed how out of character he'd been after his capture. That was his hope for the ball, really. To give him his spirit back. It appeared to be working.

Tom was a fantastic lead, and a fantastic dancer in general, and Harry was glad for a moment that he'd thought to learn – he didn't want a repeat of the Yule Ball all those years ago. It was a very graceful dance, and Harry couldn't help to notice the attractive smell of the other man.

"Are you enjoying your evening?" Harry asked, trying not to seem too forced. He genuinely wanted to know, though Tom could probably see that.

"I am, thank you." Came the quiet reply. "I've almost missed the tedious nature of socialising in the higher society."

"True, tedious it is. I, at least, am meeting new people though. Have your followers missed you much in your absence?"

"They were not aware I was gone out of the usual, it is not their place to pry into where I am every day of the week."

Harry smiled a little to himself before answering. "Of course. They are well, then? I have not had much of a chance to speak to them yet."

"There are fine, but I must admit I do not care much for that. Surely you know I am not the _caring_ type, especially for my followers?"

"True also. Well I'm glad you at least are enjoying the change. I can't begin to imagine how it must've felt, being kidnapped like that." Harry noticed Tom's eyes darken a little, but continued all the same. "I truly am sorry for it, you know I am. I feel as if I was being driven mad by my obsession to get here, before. It is much unlike me. I must seem quite the villain."

"Quite" came the curt reply.

The dance ended, and Harry placed his lips gently on Tom's cheek as a traditional farewell, and strolled off to find another guest to greet.

* * *

Tom was honestly quite frustrated with the whole thing, though he had enjoyed the feeling of freedom he got from the ball, being able to pretend he wasn't imprisoned and becoming his usual self, watching others almost drool at his presence. What annoyed him was the fact that he wasn't usually part of the drooling and it was incredibly unfair that Harry Potter had to look so attractive in his dress-robes. He wouldn't sulk over it though, and he certainly wouldn't think more on the matter; Stockholm syndrome was not his style.

As he watched the guests start to file out of the room, however, he started to feel the anger again. His freedom was pretend, and he was being forced now to return to reality. He would not be sleeping in his own bed, he would not be able to continue with his plans. He would be trapped, once more. He found himself staring helplessly at the door once everybody had left, a growing hatred for his captor once more. The door that was freedom to them, but nothing to him, only leading to another room of his prison.

Tom froze as a hand curled around his neck, and he nearly lashed out with his wandless magic before he heard a hissed " _free_ ". Was that… parseltongue? He whipped round to the blank face of Harry Potter.

There was a moment of silence, then Harry spoke.

"Did you not hear? You can go." He said quiety, gesturing to the door.

"You speak parseltongue?" Tom was breathless. He had _never_ come across anybody other than the Gaunts who could speak it, and Harry Potter of all people could.

"This is not well known, but the Peverell brothers spoke parseltongue. Takes a lot to activate the ability though; mine came through with the help of Voldemort's horcrux."

A parselmouth.

"Tom. You're free. You can go. This was your leaving ball, in a sense. I'm letting you go."

Free. A parselmouth. Another parselmouth who's freeing him.

"I'd like you to come visit though. You have full access to the library. You don't even need to tell me I'm coming. I trust you with the library and there's protective charms in place for anything really serious. You can go."

Finally gathering himself, Tom nodded. He was free. Turning, he left. The man felt as if he had forgotten something when he got home, but none of that mattered. He was free after only two weeks. He was free.

 _How is it going?_


	4. Chapter 4

After seeing the excited glint in Tom's eye as he left, Harry felt a great weight lift off his chest. He'd been awful, if he was honest with himself. Kidnapping somebody was not the best of starts to his new life in this timeline, but he'd gotten so carried away. Tom was free now, though. And Tom now knew who Harry was, knew his power. He didn't think it would be goodbye forever, especially with the lure of the parselscript still hidden away in Harry's library.

The ball had, overall, been a success. It seemed to most that it was an introductory ball to Harry's presence in wizarding society, and so people had come, excited to meet the new Potter. Only Harry had known the true purpose of it, as a leaving ball for Tom. Almost an apology. Almost enough to make up for what he'd done. Though Harry was truly very conflicted about the whole thing. It's not like Tom was a good person; he was already a murderer of several. But did that really mean it was okay to kidnap the man for his own gain? But how else would he have got Tom's attention in this way? Harry wasn't too sure about the whole thing, but to save his head from bursting with the question, he let it be. Tom was free now. As was Harry, from his guilt. He could work on being a better person again now.

It did still feel a bit lonely, almost lonelier than he'd felt in his previous timeline, but it would surely get better. This time, he was his own person, and this time, he still had Tom, alive. He was sure Tom was the key to it, from all the time he'd spent with the horcrux in him. He would make new friends also, though, he was sure of it, despite not having had the opportunity to meet anybody of this time in their childhood. He'd especially enjoyed talking to Harfang and Callidora Longbottom at the ball; despite their initial pureblood stiffness, Harry could see a mischief in them as well, which he was keen to get to know. The Malfoys had been civil to him, and Abraxas Malfoy seemed far more light-hearted than his descendants turned out to be in Harry's timeline. The Blacks, too, were not as awful as Harry had expected them to be. They were very interested in his background in particular, though Harry suspected that was more out of wanting to gauge his status rather than sincere curiosity. Tom had been right though, it was overall tedious. He at least had the dance with Tom to remember. And just Tom, in general. It felt odd, having such an obsession. It had been one thing in his own timeline, looking back at the memories related to him, knowing he was dead. Here, Tom was very much alive, and Harry found him all the more enticing for it.

Tom Riddle was alive, and more brilliant than he had ever dreamed of.

The man in question, of course, did not quite feel the same way about Harry, but that was understandable, and not at all an issue so far. He considered it a privilege just to be able to lay eyes on him in the flesh.

* * *

Tom didn't sleep much. He didn't need to, he had things to do that he just didn't have time for during the day. And what was most important to him, was continuing learning the secrets of parselmagic. That book was an opportunity that Tom was completely unable to just let go; he _had_ to finish it, and he had to find out if there were others. It was likely, however, that the book had charms on it to keep it in the damned Potter library. So, every night at midnight, Tom apparated to the property to continue the project. At first, he hadn't been sure if Harry had been telling the truth about Tom being able to go back to the library whenever he wanted, but it was soon obvious that he had been, as the wards let Tom through with no trouble.

While the house had made him feel uneasy when he was there as a hostage, he felt no such discomfort in his freedom. _He_ was the one in power now, and though he was not in his own environment, he would still be able to escape whenever he wished.

Night after night, Tom would return to the library, and sit with the light of his wand, studying the tome. He almost didn't believe the contents of it, and was a tad ashamed at being so pulled in by the reputation of Slytherin to consider any other parselmouths, though everybody else seemed to have done the same, including his much-loved deceased family. Still, it made him think. He had been going about using his magic all in the wrong way, and the right way was not something he'd ever been interested in using. The true strength of Parselmagic wasn't in causing pain to mudbloods and muggles, but in _helping_ people. Tom shuddered at the thought. Though admittedly, it could still be used for harming. It was the intent that mattered, as it did with all magic; hurting somebody with the intent of helping elsewhere would then be practical. But the point still stood. That's what bloody Harry Potter meant by " _enlightening_ ". Of course he'd wanted Tom to find this, he was still intent on making him good, clearly.

The next night, when Tom walked into the library once again, intent on studying the tome further, he found somebody was already in there. He froze and drew his wand out, threateningly. The man in question raised his hands.

"Come on, Tom, you know I'm not going to hurt you. Come sit down, I won't disturb you."

Harry Potter was a dick. He must've known that Tom was coming at night, and a man as clever as him and a man who knew Tom so well, he knew that Tom was trying to avoid him. So he came here at this time on purpose. Just to confront Tom. There was, however, no way out, so Tom continued in, took the book he wanted and sat on a desk as far away from Harry as possible, hoping to be able to ignore the man, who stayed there all night, though he did keep his word and remained silent.

Unfortunately for Tom, when he was leaving at the usual time of 5, Harry Potter stopped him, with a gentle hand to his arm. Tom restrained from flinching away.

"You know you can come whenever, Tom. You know you're welcome." He said in a soft tone.

"I have things to do during the day." Tom replied, curtly, and left.

He did _not_ want to be starting a conversation with his kidnapper.

Again, unfortunately for Tom, Harry Potter was, as always, one step ahead of him, and had left a note in his pocket. It read:

 _You have a right to happiness, Tom_

Tom screwed it up, and made certain to leave it where Harry Potter would see it.

* * *

Harry Potter was no fool, he could see that Tom was still recovering from the kidnap. The man was unlikely to admit it even to himself, but being in a position of such helplessness had shaken him; he needed time to recover his sense of authority, and Harry wouldn't be approaching him again. He also knew, however, that Tom respected him by now. If he didn't, Harry would be dead in a ditch. Not even in a ditch; Tom would not have left any remains for people to find.

He likely would see the man again soon, however. There was an upcoming ball which Harry was convinced Tom would be present at. He was a little surprised at having been invited to the Malfoys' Yule Ball, but certainly very pleased; being there was an indication of significance within wizarding society, so Harry knew that he can't have done too badly to be invited. It was the ball of the year to many British wizards, and Harry remembered that it had remained so even in his timeline, so he was looking forward to going. It was famous for its lavish decoration, top standard music, and decadent food. It would also serve as a good distraction for Harry from his loneliness. This Christmas, Harry would not be spending the holiday at the Burrow, surrounded by people and warmth and love. He'd be on his own, going out to the Ministry to make his influence, keeping up with society, working out what he'd missed. He did plan on sending Tom a gift though, as much as he doubted the man would appreciate the thought. He'd found it deep within the Peverell vaults, searching for something that Tom would actually appreciate – an item of historical value, but also of beauty. Tom did not have the option of disliking this gift, Harry would not allow that.

When the ball came, Harry was once again excited. These events had become the highlight of his life in this timeline with all the socialising and dancing, and on top of that, Harry hadn't seen Tom since that one night; he knew Tom had kept coming to the library every night, ever-driven by his thirst for knowledge, but Harry didn't want to push it. Tonight, he'd be seeing Tom again, in what would most definitely be incredibly attractive dress-robes. It was odd, how alluring such an evil man could be, but that was often the way.

When Harry was greeted by the Malfoys civilly, it was clear that Tom had no yet arrived, so he took the opportunity to admire the decoration. It certainly lived up to how everybody said it was, plus some; there was no question of the season, with Christmas trees and bells and bunches of mistletoe placed delicately around the large ballroom; rumour was that Lady Malfoy oversaw decoration herself. In his surveying of the room, Harry laid eyes on Harfang Longbottom, and walked over to where he was stood.

"Harfang, wonderful to see you again!" Harry exclaimed, eager to see his new friend; they had communicated a fair amount since Harry's own ball.

Upon seeing Harry, Harfang's face lit up. "Ah, the mysterious Mr Potter, I am glad to see you here; I have been stood all on my own for the past half hour! Nobody wants to speak to me without my missus, it seems."

"I am sorry to hear it, where is the tremendous lady on this fine evening?" Harry asked, taking a glass of firewhiskey each for the two of them.

"She is at home, tending to the children" Harfang replied, with a serious nod. Then, leaning forward a little, he whispered "not much of a fan of Lady Malfoy, either."

"Ah," Harry nodded, understanding. "Well I am glad you, at least, were able to make it tonight, I should have been awfully bored otherwise."

"How's your holiday been going then, Harry?" the man asked, taking a sip of his drink. "Not too dull, I hope?"

"I've had more lively Yules I must admit, but that's to be expected when I'm not yet fully integrated with Britain's social circles. I may find myself alone on the day itself" Harry admitted.

"Oh, poor lad" Harfang said, giving a sympathetic look. "I'm sure it'll be alright, get yourself a pet at the very least, eh?"

"Good plan, I am missing an owl," Harry turned to the dance floor. "Do you think if I give one of these pretty ladies a dance they'll spend the day with me?" he then joked.

"Oh get out there and have some fun!" Harfang exclaimed. "Any of these girls would be thrilled to dance with you, I'm sure."

"Wish me luck then" Harry grinned, and went about finding a dance partner.

It didn't take him long; many girls in long flowing dresses sat or stood around the room. Harry approached a young lady with a pale pink dress on, dark brown curls, and light brown eyes.

"Good evening, miss," Harry started with a bow. "May I introduce myself as Hadrian Potter, and ask for this next dance." He put on his most charming smile.

The girl giggled, introduced herself as Emili Yaxley and accepted, and her and Harry spun gracefully around the room.

"Have you got your eye on anyone in particular today, dear Emili?" Harry teased, chuckling slightly at her blush.

"Well, not in particular I don't suppose, but I do rather think that girl in the purple dress over there is quite pretty, don't you?"

Harry glanced over, and indeed she was; a very flattering dress with short blonde hair.

"I quite agree!" Harry exclaimed. "Let us go over and talk to her."

So he danced them over to where she was sat.

"Pardon me, my good lady, but my friend here, Emili Yaxley, and I, Hadrian Potter, were just dancing when we happened to notice you sat over here quite beautifully; may we know your name?"

The blonde girl smiled at them both while Emili giggled a little.

"My name is Madeline Bell, wonderful to meet you" she beamed.

"Well good evening, Madeline Bell," said Harry with a bow. "Now I would be more gracious and ask on behalf of Emili if you wanted to dance with her, but I find myself enamoured by your beauty myself, so I shall have to ask you to choose between us both."

"Oh my!" Madeline giggled. "I'm afraid, Hadrian Potter, I might just have to go for your companion."

"Ah, alone again it seems" Harry grinned. "Enjoy your evening, ladies, I shall have to find myself another partner."

Quite giddy – Harry had never been very good with alcohol – he participated in a couple more dances before he found Harfang again.

"My friend, I am quite worn out" he admitted.

"I'm not surprised." Harfang himself was looking a little flush from the firewhiskey. "You have danced with many beautiful ladies, I am quite beside myself with jealousy. I must warn, however, there is a certain man who's had his eye on your back for a rather large portion of the night."

"There has?" Harry asked, confused. "It wasn't you was it, Harfang? If you want to dance do just ask, there's no need to suffer for it" he soothed, mockingly.

"Don't be a fool," Harfang chuckled, but then leaned in a bit closer for a whisper. "It's the Slytherin heir. I don't know what you've done to get _his_ attention but from what I can tell he seems particularly interested."

"Ah." Harry said. Of course it would be Tom, he'd almost forgotten about the man with all his dancing, but now he was excited again. "Well perhaps he will ask for a dance himself, I'm exhausted from all the leading I've been doing tonight!"

On cue, Tom began to make his way over towards the pair. Harfang raised an eyebrow.

"Watch yourself there, Harry. Don't mess around with fiendfyre."

Harry didn't have time to respond before Tom was within earshot. He greeted Harry with a bow, as Harry had done for both Emili and Madeline.

"Harry Potter, may I have this dance?" came the baritone voice, and Harry's heart jumped a little with excitement at the intensity of Tom's maroon coloured eyes. He nodded, and let the man lead him onto the dancefloor.

This dance, like the first he had had with Tom, was much more smooth and slow than the dances he had shared beforehand that night. It was almost intense, as the two men held eye contact and, for a while, remained silent.

Finally, Tom spoke.

"You are too good for those giggling girls. A man of your quality should be making more dignified company." There was a dark, almost possessive glint in Tom's eyes.

"It's just a bit of fun," Harry defended. "Besides, they're wonderful ladies. Not that I'm dancing with them exclusively; I'm dancing with you, am I not? I would argue that that's dignified enough."

"I had to ask for the dance, and I am doing you a great favour by asking. Clearly you cannot be trusted to look after your image yourself."

"Ah you got me there, Tom. I'm a wandering drunk who's out ruining the Potter name by dancing with pretty ladies. Oh thank you, thank you for saving me" Harry joked. He only got a hum in response.

"The problem is, _Harry Potter_ , not your name, but mine. I do not want to be seen in companionship with such a foolish person, I have a reputation to keep."

Harry's heart jumped again at the word 'companionship', but kept his features schooled. "I very much doubt your reputation is in danger from just one person, you surely have more than enough respect by now for people to tremble even at the _thought_ of questioning your company."

Tom just pursed his lips; Harry had won on that one.

"Regardless," the man started again, "you will meet me at the entrance of Knockturn Ally at 9am sharp on the 26th of December. From there I will apparate you to my manor. We have things to discuss."

Harry raised an amused eyebrow at this. "Yes, sir. What if I already have plans?"

"You will cancel them."

The rest of their dance was carried out in silence, and Harry was left to think about this meeting. It could be dangerous, as it was very likely that Tom was still resentful for the kidnap, but that would always be the case for Tom, and there was no way Harry was missing out on an opportunity to see him.

The remainder of the Yule Ball wasn't quite the same after that dance.

 _Let me know what you think; if you have any suggestions on improvements just let me know, I want this to be good  
_ _Also, sorry for the Christmas theme, I know it's not seasonal! Maybe you could come back and read it around the right time :P_


	5. Chapter 5

On Christmas night, Tom apparated to Harry Potter's house as was his routine. It felt ridiculous calling it a house, seeing as it was at least the size of a small manor, but the man _was_ idiotic in that way, so Tom didn't really find it surprising. It had been over a month now, and Tom was very nearly done with the tome; and he needed to finish it either this night or the next, if he wanted to properly discuss it with Harry Potter. Though he shouldn't have been surprised, Tom started a bit at the faint glow within the library. His fears, however, were incorrect. Harry Potter was not waiting in there for him. There was instead, a few candles on one of the desks giving light to a small, wrapped gift, and a plate holding a single minced pie, in festive spirit. How very like him.

Tom sighed a little, exasperated, before sitting down at the desk once he'd retrieved the tome. He supposed he ought to open the gift. It had been wrapped very carefully in silver paper, with a dark green ribbon; likely as a thought towards Tom's heritage rather than Hogwarts house. He carefully pulled at the ribbon, then removed the paper, to reveal a black box with a small note:

 _Merry Christmas, Tom. Hope you enjoy the gift._

There was a dot of ink after, as if he had wanted to write something more, but he had clearly decided against it. Wanting to get it over and done with, Tom opened the box. Inside, was a silver bracelet with an inscription on it. Looking closer, his heart skipped a beat; more parselscript. He couldn't help but think about all he would have missed out on if Harry Potter had not come into this timeline. So many forgotten treasures. The inscription read:

 _A protection for the wearer, no curse against thee, nor wear of life force_

Protection, then... That would certainly work with what Tom had been reading in the tome. Harry Potter, of course, would not bother giving a gift that had no use, nor would he bother with anything less than a significant historical artifact. It was odd to remember how much the man knew about him, when he knew so little of the man himself, though he did seem to wear his heart on his sleeve. Not only that, but _flaunt_ his heart. Typical Gryffindor. Tom did not doubt the authenticity of the object; though he was naturally wary, he was good enough at reading people to know when to trust them. Unsurprisingly, trustworthy people were incredibly hard to find, but Harry Potter was one of the rare kind. He meant no harm to Tom. So, with a growing anticipation, Tom put the bracelet over his wrist. The effect was immediate; a warmth flooded through his body, leaving a tingling sensation on the surface of his skin. The tingling wore after a few moments, but the warmth remained – it felt almost comforting, safe. He supposed the bracelet had originally been made as a gift to a lover, for the sensation was much like that which he sensed as a legimens when others had thoughts of their loved ones. He could not help but be mildly pleased at this gift, though he was not sure he wanted Harry Potter to know that – the smug bastard would just love to know that he managed to make Tom feel something akin to love.

With a quick checking spell over the mince pie, Tom ate that too, and found it to be surprisingly nice. By the time the night was over, the tome was finished, and Tom was able to go home to think over its contents.

For a start, Harry was thrilled to find that Tom had taken both the gift and the mice pie; he must have appreciated them somewhat. Harry was also very excited, despite being alone on Christmas day, to be seeing Tom the day after; a meeting initiated by _Tom_! He was in such a good mood, he set out to make a Christmas dinner, even if it was only for himself. He'd received a few Christmas cards from his acquaintances, and a small gift from the Longbottoms, but no knitted jumper with a big H on it. That didn't matter though, because his obsession was growing into real-life happenings, and he felt as if his heart would burst from the excitement of it all; this timeline was even better than he had hoped. Harry had not considered how he would feel seeing Tom Riddle in the flesh, but he was certain he would not have been able to predict it, especially in the sluggish existence of his past timeline. This was like no feeling he had ever come across before, not even as strong as the angry passion he had felt against Voldemort, when the monster had been alive and threatening the lives of all his loved ones. What he felt against Voldemort was nothing at all in comparison to how he felt about Tom; perhaps it had to do with the fact that Tom had far more of his soul attached to him, giving a stronger pull.

He honestly didn't feel himself, but then who could define who that was? What is _self_? And who's to say that who his is now isn't valid, just because he's changed? The war had affected him, he knew that. His friends in the old timeline could see that. His obsession with Tom had changed him further, but it gave him a drive for something, and that had been something he'd missed. He didn't regret his decision to move timelines. It would be better for him here, he was sure of it. He'd been raised and shaped by Dumbledore for the sole purpose of fulfilling the prophecy, killing Voldemort, and ending the suffering, and he had done that. Didn't he now have a right to fulfil his own desires? Do something for himself? And to do that, Harry felt as if he almost _needed_ a new identity. And that's what the timeline gave him. Here, he was not The Boy Who Lived, he was Harry Potter, the young mysterious and _free_ Potter who had his whole life in front of him and no obligation other than that of a pureblood family member.

Still, what he felt for Tom, was it just obsession or was it more than that? Harry thought he had known love when he fell for Ginny, and he couldn't bring himself to dispute that entirely; he'd loved Ginny very dearly, certainly had a preference for her above anyone else. But this was stronger. This was a tie of the soul. He had put his whole heart into his love for Ginny, but what he felt for Tom… It was _more_ than just the heart, it was the entire being. There was a desperate connection between the two of them, he knew it was reciprocal in some way – not an obsession then. An obsession would be one-sided, but that possessive glint he'd seen in Tom's eye the other night, the hint of jealousy for having been dancing with anyone other than Tom himself… Tom perhaps did not know it yet, but he would fall for an obsession with Harry in return, though one of a different nature of Harry's. From what Harry knew of Tom, it would not be an admiration like Harry felt. It would be the need to own. Tom had always had a need to _own_ something, to take from the world to make up for his suffering, and he would want to take Harry sure enough. Without blowing his own trumpet, Harry was a gift to Tom; a quick minded wizard with a powerful core who knew Tom Riddle like the back of his hand. Who wouldn't want such an asset?

With nothing else better to do on Christmas day (excluding making/eating food and dreaming about Tom), Harry went to the library. Harry suspected that tomorrow there would be some questions about parselmagic, and though Harry had studied it long and hard in his old timeline, he felt like he needed to refresh his mind.

It had taken Harry quite a while to come to terms with the fact that he was a parselmouth. The reaction he had received for it in his second year at Hogwarts never quite left him, and he didn't want to share the ability with only Voldemort, seeing it as a curse more than a gift, and it was more isolating to know that he was the only one once Voldemort was gone. His research into it had revealed that there were foreign branches of the ability, but never in wizards; it was only in humanoid magical creatures who spoke no human language, so Harry wasn't sure he particularly wanted to see how he was welcomed there. The prejudice against the ability was strong, and Harry had wanted nothing but to get rid of it. That was until he'd found _The Secrets of the Parselmage._ It had been a great relief for him to find that parselmagic wasn't all about killing muggleborns, but his friends weren't so sure. Hermione, even, didn't want to hear it; "I don't think you should be spending too much time with this magic, Harry. Not after all the damage it's done" she had said, with a sympathetic smile.

Tom was the first one to be truly interested in the art as he was, which he supposed was why his friends hadn't been entirely on board with it themselves. But this Tom was not yet the monster, and he could certainly learn from this book – using parselmagic correctly, Tom would be able to do something great, like he had wanted to do before his mind had been warped by his horcruxes and desperation for immortality. He could certainly see why Tom seemed to think he was trying to turn the man good, but it wasn't that. True, it wasn't merely his feeble excuse of wanting company, either. It was the sadness he felt that Tom Riddle's dreams had been ruined by his own determinism to destroy. The loss of potential that he could see in that incredibly clever boy that Dumbledore had taken from the orphanage so long ago. That was what Harry really wanted to fix, in his obsession with the man.

Tom arrived at the entrance to Knockturn Alley early, though did not wait in plain sight. It was snowing, and there were crowds of people already trudging through the snow, asking how each other's Yules had been, wrapping thick scarves around their necks. Tom himself was in a dark, thick cloak, and relied on a heating charm to prevent the biting cold from reaching him. His hood was down, but he did not expect anybody to notice him in the bustling street.

When Harry Potter arrived, he did not see Tom at first, and Tom took the opportunity to survey the man. His hair was dusted in snow, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold, yet he still managed to maintain a sleek, stylish, and authoritative look; not to mention charming. It did not pass Tom's attention that many of the young ladies and girls walking by gave appreciative looks which were, more often than not, rewarded with a heart-melting smile, and the men given a quick smirk.

Harry Potter's looks were undoubtedly on par with Tom's, which was saying something. Tom was a charming, dark, mysterious man of the kind that young girls fantasised about but would never dare approach. Harry Potter was attractive in a different way; he was open and friendly, with a charming smile, but with the air that as much as he could melt your heart, you would never know his own. Two different types of unattainable, at the very least. It was almost annoying how charming Harry Potter was, though not quite to the level of jealousy, but Tom knew that it would make a useful asset to have somebody of that nature on his side.

At exactly 9, Tom stepped over towards Harry Potter. When the other man noticed Tom approaching, his face split into a grin.

"Good morning Tom! How was Yule?" he asked, green eyes shining.

"Quiet." Tom commented. Of course he hadn't done any celebrating; no friends or family to do so with. He'd just worked, planned.

"Ah, same as mine then" he replied with a sympathetic nod. "Are we off then?"

"Indeed."

Tom took Harry Potter to the apparition point in the village, and then disapparated side-along to his home. It was a fairly modest house, but Tom had worked hard to get the money to buy it; the orphanage hadn't given him anything, though he wouldn't have wanted it, and he hadn't returned since the day he could leave it behind. That, however, was not important now. He had plans to make.

 _How's it reading? We're getting near to some more romantic/sensual bits hopefully!_


	6. Chapter 6

Harry had a slightly uneasy feeling as he stepped over the threshold, knowing that he was in Tom's environment now, and knowing that it could potentially be a particularly dangerous environment to be in, but he brushed it aside. He could protect himself fairly well, and was confident that Tom wouldn't do anything too awful to him.

The hallways were dark, and there was not much to decorate the walls, but the room they entered – presumably a study – was a bit lighter, with a large window facing behind the house onto a small stretch of garden, and had some fashionable wooden furnishing. The desk was the grandest piece of furniture in the room, and neat piles of parchment scattered about the surface. There was a desk chair, but Tom had placed it in the corner of the room and charmed the table to be appropriate for standing at. Tom walked over to it, and took a couple of scattered pieces of parchment and brought them over to Harry.

"You have read _The Secrets of the Parselmage_." He started, eyes piercing Harry's. "You knew, you know, that parselmagic was actually made for helping people. You knew I would read it, and have to rethink my direction. Now you will help me use it for my own means. You will help me change my strategy."

Harry smirked a little at the authority Tom was exerting. Of course he would help Tom, though he could've asked in a nicer way.

"Sure," he shrugged. "I'm not sure how much help I can be, seeing as I've only had a few years to study the parselmagic myself, and you know this timeline better than I do, but I'll do my best."

Harry had only a fraction of a second to react. Tom whipped out his wand in a flash, and hissed a spell out, slashing across his neck painfully, causing an alarming amount of blood to splatter out, but Harry was barely a moment behind him, spelling out a wound against Tom's abdomen in return before falling to his knees in pain.

He'd known there'd be danger, but bloody hell he was _not_ expecting any spells aimed at his neck. Gagging at the pain, he was now completely at the mercy of Tom, but fortunately for him, the man came behind him, kneeling down, and smoothing a hand over the wound with another hiss. It was a surprisingly gentle movement, and made his skin tingle, but he was too busy regaining his breath to notice. The very same gentle fingers, however, quickly closed around his throat and pressed down warningly.

"And if it so pleases you, Harry Potter" the voice rasped against his ear, "I wouldn't mind being healed in return."

With some urgency, Harry whipped around, ignoring the feeling that rushed through him from the feeling of pressure on his neck. Quickly lifting Tom's now blood-stained shirt, Harry smoothed his hand over his toned stomach with a hiss of his own, and the gash quickly receded.

"I should've known you'd retaliate" muttered Tom, clearly trying to recover as fast as he could. "At least I now the effectiveness of the healing."

Rolling his eyes at the man, Harry asked "Did you really have to go for my neck _just_ to see if the bloody book was right about parselmagic?"

Both men now stood, Tom brushed the comment off. "I won't go round foolishly placing my trust in some _Potter_ tomes."

"It's not just _some Potter tome_ , Tom, it makes sense; did you never learn about Asclepius, the Greek God of medicine? You know, the one who healed using _snakes_?"

"Stop whining, you didn't die, surely that is all that matters. Regardless, I wish for you to begin helping me with my plans; time is of the essence, as much as it may not seem so." Tom concluded.

And so, they spent the day planning.

* * *

When Harry Potter had left, Tom felt very pleased with himself. He'd devised the outlines of a new plan, working with the knowledge of his mistakes in another timeline and the true use of parselmagic, so that this time, with Harry Potter by his side, there would be no room for failure. In his timeline, too, he would not be challenged by fate with a prophecy; this Harry Potter had fulfilled his prophecy, and with his presence, another would not be born. Fate was on his side.

Tom walked to his dresser and pulled off his shirt. There was a still a faint red line where Harry Potter had cursed him; he'd chosen a feisty one for his equal. Well, almost equal. He supposed he got the notion from what the man had said of the prophecy in the other timeline, about them being equals, but Harry Potter would not undermine the authority of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Not that that put him in the ranks of Tom's submissive followers, either; no, his potential would be wasted there, so Tom would have to let him get away with a little more, if only to preserve his fire. And there _was_ fire, a fire that Tom had never faced before.

* * *

Stepping into his home, Harry was surprised to sense that somebody was already in there. Knowing that the wards wouldn't let in anybody he hadn't allowed, Harry wasn't concerned, though was a bit wary as to why Harfang Longbottom was sat in the parlour, looking pale. A wave of relief went over his expression when Harry walked in, but he still looked concerned.

"Harfang!" Harry greeted, approaching the unexpected guest. "What brings you here?"

The man looked morose. "I had initially come just as a general visit, just fancied a chat, really. But you weren't here. So I went to see if you were at the Ministry, like you often are. Not their either. Couldn't spot you in Diagon Alley. And I know, Harry, that this is seeming all too much just for a normal visit, but I was concerned; I'd seen you and Riddle at the Yule Ball, dancing together, and Harry, I did not like the way he was looking at you." Harry tried to interrupt, but Harfang but his hand out. "I know you're knew here, Harry, and I know that Riddle seems lovely and charming, but between you and me, there are many reasons to believe otherwise. Nobody has any proof, but it's dangerous to be associating with him, he has a murky reputation. I just want you safe." He finished.

Harry nodded, solemnly, clasped Harfang's hand, and sat them both down.

"My friend, don't get me wrong, I greatly appreciate your concern," Harry started, soothingly and slowly. "But I promise you that I know what I'm doing. Your suspicions were somewhat correct, I was with Riddle, but no harm came to me. I promise, Harfang, that I will not allow myself to be harmed by that man. Though I do say so myself, I am a talented wizard, and have before held my own against him. I know of his nature. Truly, I do. And I will not let my guard down. But know that I am safe."

Harfang looked slightly appeased, but there was still the hint of worry on his lower lip; he could never help that habit, no matter how he tried to put on the pureblood mask, it was almost endearing. The two friends had tea together, and spoke some more about each of their Yules, and eventually Harfang retired, needing to return home to Callidora.

Harry sighed to himself. Perhaps getting friendly with the lighter families wasn't such a good idea, knowing their tendency to show concern and protectiveness, especially against those they considered to be darker. But they were certainly the only families that would be truly friendly and sincere, and Harry did not regret his friendship with the man. He would have to be careful though. As Harfang had said at the ball, he _was_ playing with fiendfyre, but as one who had great skill in it. His friend may need further reassurance, though he was certainly not willing to disclose all of his information.

Regardless, his day with Tom had been good. It was refreshing to be working on a difficult problem not on his own, but with somebody as like-minded as Harry to understand and work smoothly with him, but different enough to be able to come up with new ideas. Tom had asked that they meet again, and Harry assured him – albeit mockingly – that he would keep his diary clear of all obligations for the man. This had earned him something of a sneer, but nothing as malevolent as what he had first been receiving when making his mark on this timeline.

What Harry kept thinking back to, however, was the very start of the meeting. He had been shocked when Tom had pulled his wand out, yes, but not angered or betrayed... Most importantly, he was rewarded for his patience with the most alluring of touches that he had ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Even the threatening firmness against his throat was tantalising, and Harry could not, _would_ not, forget the feeling.

His obsession for Tom would not be diminishing with such temptation tip-toeing around just out of arms reach. He _would_ have Tom; or rather, to please his new companion, _Tom_ would have _him_.

 _Let me know how this is going... I'd like to think it's beginning to get a little more heated, a little more sensual_


	7. Chapter 7

In the subsequent weeks, Harry Potter and Tom had been meeting frequently to plan and discuss ideas. Tom was reluctant to admit that the man who had the gall to _kidnap_ him was probably the most useful when it came to these things, despite the fact that he had many a good mind within his followers. He was curious as to how Harry Potter would work with the likes of Abraxas Malfoy for planning, but he wasn't willing to test that out any time soon; it would be far too risky to allow people to know that he was of a different timeline, and there were no easy ways of explaining how he knew so much. In the meantime, to make up for this gap in communication, Tom practiced a good system of meeting with Harry Potter to discuss, then calling his followers to him the next day to settle the ideas that Harry Potter had brought up.

Today, however, would be slightly different from the usual planning; also a bit more taxing. Tom had sent Harry Potter an owl to summon him, and the man would be entering the wards at any moment. He was not long down the corridors to the study, and he entered with a huff. Tom raised his eyebrow at the sound, though unsurprised at the cheek.

"I wasn't aware that I was such poor company" he mused, smirking at the slight frown that graced the other's eyebrows.

"It's not that," he huffed again. "I just don't want to miss the Spring Equinox Ball."

"Ah." Tom said lightly, almost sympathetically. "Hence the dress robes. You do like your balls, don't you?" he teased.

"Well, yes!" the man exclaimed. "I get to socialise, and meet people, and-"

"And dance with pretty ladies," Tom interrupted. "Yes, I've noticed. You seem to be the only person other than those girls who seem to enjoy the things." Tom was not a fan of balls; the worst sort seemed insistent on coming to talk to him, the kind like Slughorn, and there was very few people of worth to dance with. Harry Potter, at least, was tolerable, but the evenings were still awful, and Tom was socially obligated to attend to continue his status in society.

"Will we be quick with whatever you wanted, then?" the man pleaded. His expression was a mix of authoritative and playful which was surprisingly hard to challenge, not that what Tom had wanted to do _would_ take long, in theory.

"I want to test this." Tom held out the silver bracelet that he'd been gifted with at Yule, in a manner reminiscent of how the other had held his horcrux from the other timeline when they first met.

Harry Potter's eyes lit up, clearly pleased that Tom was taking an interest in the gift.

"Nice excuse to throw curses at me?" he teased.

"I don't need an excuse to do such a thing if I ever want to" Tom brushed off. "No, I have no interest in whether or not it works for you; I need to know if it works for me."

Tom had wanted to test it much earlier, but there was the large issue of getting somebody to curse him without him being able to retaliate or defend himself. It required a great deal of trust, a word that Tom did not so readily turn to, so he had needed time to consider it. He had come to the conclusion, however, that Harry Potter was about as trustworthy as anybody could get. There was slight confusion on the man's face at the idea, obviously understanding the level of trust involved himself, but Tom just put the bracelet on.

"There are a variety of different curses I want you to try, and you need to put all your magic into them; in a situation when somebody wants to severely harm, I want the backup that this will work even then, despite my horcruxes as an extra backup there. This will, obviously, put you through a lot, and you may ask to stop at any point if you are struggling, but I will find it most useful if you are able to continue. Firstly, I want you to fire something mundane, like a stunner."

Tom stood still, expressionless, and braced himself to remain unmoving while the other man threw curses at him. Harry Potter obviously looked a bit uncertain, himself, but from the determination on his face there was no doubt that he was going to half-arse this. Tom could see the curse flying towards him, sense that it was powerful, but when it reached him, nothing happened. That was a good start. Now they would be stepping it up.

"Are you familiar with the Unforgivable curses, Harry Potter?" Tom asked, and watched as the man shifted, uncomfortable. There was a nod. "I want you to try the Cruciatus curse. The Killing curse won't do for obvious reasons, and I'm resistant to the Imperius curse as you are."

Harry Potter looked even more uncomfortable this time. Understandably so, as this curse needed true, raw emotion behind it for it to work well; and Tom _needed_ it to work well. His green eyes closed, the strong shoulders tensed, and when he looked back up again, there was a dark, intimidating quality to the usually bright and friendly eyes. Tom was quite surprised by the change, never having seen the man in such a dark state, and a very slight shiver went down his spine when he heard the low, almost sadistic sounding "Crucio".

Nothing happened.

"Don't turn back yet," Tom murmured, keeping his eye on the man, keeping a careful watch on his emotions in case he suffered too badly. "I need you, now, to use another torturing curse, but in parseltongue. If nothing happens, do it again, and again, and again. You will not stop until I tell you to. I need to see if strong parselmagic will break down the protection at all."

The man nodded, and Tom felt a pang of sympathy – not something he often felt – at wondering what he was reliving for this curse to be effective.

The curse was hissed once; no effect. Twice; nothing more. The tenth time, and the twentieth, there was no sense of the spell ever reaching Tom, and every time Harry Potter had the same determinism, never wavering. By around the thirtieth time, Tom was convinced that the bracelet was not going to wear, and he told Harry Potter to stop. The man was still, a faint tremor in his hand which was still gripping his wand. Being very careful, Tom led Harry Potter out of the room and into the parlour, where he sat him down on a sofa. Leaving the man briefly, he returned back with a cup of tea and a glass of firewhiskey for him to choose from. The firewhiskey was gulped down first, followed by him leaning his head back, eyes closed. After about a minute, a sip was taken from the tea.

"Thanks," he whispered, eyes closed again.

"Thank _you_ ," Tom returned, sat facing him, a tad concerned. "I have been able to conclude that the bracelet works. I greatly appreciate what you went through to help. I would have used one of my followers, but they are less powerful and their loyalty less certain. I did not think you would take advantage of any vulnerability I showed as they might."

The man grunted.

"There is an hour until the ball. Rest for that time and I shall apparate you there; would you recover best with or without my presence?"

Harry Potter shifted a little and said "I think I just need to sleep", so Tom left him in peace.

* * *

Tom must have put something in that tea because when Harry woke up, he was feeling as fresh as when he'd arrived at Tom's home. He didn't resent the man in any way for asking him to do such a strenuous task; it was an honour, really, and he was thrilled that he was taking the Christmas gift so seriously. Tom came back into the parlour when it was time for them to attend the ball, and Harry couldn't help but admire Tom's dress-robes for the night; not only incredibly stylish, but agonizingly flattering for his body. If Tom noticed Harry checking him out, he didn't say anything, just took his arm and apparated him to the entrance of the ball.

Just as they were entering, Tom stopped Harry, facing him with piercing eyes.

"You're recovered from earlier, yes?" he asked.

"I'm feeling great, don't worry" Harry assured the man, then added, teasingly "but if I collapse from too much firewhiskey I'm still blaming you."

Tom just pursed his lips, and they went their separate ways.

It did not take Harry very long to find his favourites, the Longbottoms, and was pleased to note that Callidora was attending this ball with her husband.

"Harfang, Callidora," Harry greeted enthusiastically, taking the lady's hand and gently kissing it. "How are you two this evening? The children don't need sorting out tonight then?"

"It has been a while since I have seen you, Harry" remarked Callidora. "It almost seems as if you have decreased in age, while I have aged at least a year! How do you do?"

"I am wonderful, my fair lady."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Harfang, a grin on his face, "I'm doing well too you know! And Harry, we have just been talking with Professor Dumbledore here, no doubt you have heard of him."

Harry turned to greet the newly discovered guest with a warm smile.

"I certainly have; it is an honour to meet you, Professor. I have heard of much of your work while abroad."

"I am pleased to be acquainted with yourself, Mr Potter, you have already made quite the impression on the British circles in your arrival, I hope you are finding our country as welcoming as you'd like. So pleased to see you getting involved with all ranges of wizards, as well; did I not see you enter with Mr Riddle, of all people?"

Harry just smiled at the familiar twinkling eyes. He had certainly anticipated meeting this Dumbledore, knowing that he would be keeping an eye on anybody in the company of Tom Riddle. Unfortunately, though Harry dearly missed his Dumbledore, he knew that this one would not be the same. Even if Harry was here with good intentions, this Dumbledore would not know that; a very intuitive man, but incredibly black and white when it came to Tom's activities, as could be seen from his reaction to the boy at only 11. Harry suspected that Dumbledore would be wary of anyone on friendly terms with Tom, including himself. Though he likely did seem close enough to the Longbottoms, a light family; perhaps they would turn him a little in the Professor's favour, depending on who they were fonder of.

Or perhaps this test would come sooner than he had thought.

Dumbledore had very cleverly moved the discussion on to the topic of muggleborns, a favourite of his but also a useful way to gauge the general attitudes of a new acquaintance.

"This'll be a fun one Harry; see, Professor Dumbledore has some quite radical ideas about muggleborns and muggles alike." Harfang nudged Harry excitedly.

"Well," started the Professor, with a serious expression, "I would not say it is entirely radical to argue that muggleborns are of equal strength to purebloods. I have had some incredible students from muggle parentage."

"I must agree with the Professor on this one," Harry interjected, "I should believe it very possible for them to be equals to us; on my travels I have met many powerful muggleborns, perhaps more so than myself, and in some cultures, muggleborns actually have _higher_ status than the pureblood."

Dumbledore smiled at this, nodding at Harry for his support.

"Don't let your friend hear you saying that, Riddle would gut you for even thinking such a thing" joked Harfang, though seemed impressed by this new piece of information.

"Quite, we can keep this our dirty little secret" he responded, winking.

The discussion was about to continue when Harry was taken away to dance by one of the Blacks – Pollux, he thought – and left Dumbledore with what he thought would seem a rather acceptable impression of him.

It was later on in the evening that Tom came and found Harry for their customary dance. Harry was, at this point, beginning to feel somewhat tired, and was grateful of Tom coming over to glide him around the dancefloor with little effort, the now familiar scent almost lulling him to sleep upright. They were silent, for a while, but when Harry was feeling more comfortable he spoke.

"I thought of Voldemort," he murmured, looking into each of Tom's maroon eyes individually, repeatedly, feeling as if he was searching for something; maybe even Voldemort himself would be in those eyes, back for Harry once more.

"Hm?" the other man responded, clearly having been lost in his own thoughts.

"I thought of the war, and the deaths, and the torture; my anger and that of others. It was a terrifying time, Tom. I was barely a man. I was scared, more than anything, but I _had_ to channel that fear into anger, so that it didn't turn into guilt at not having done enough, or being a coward. It was horrible. I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders, and to many witches and wizards, it was; _I_ would save them from the evil man, _I_ would fight for them. I could barely cope with just the idea of killing."

"I can imagine," Tom breathed, saying nothing more.

Harry could've sworn the man pulled him minutely closer in their dancing embrace.

* * *

Though Harry Potter had returned to his conversation with the Longbottoms, having danced with several others and engaged in conversation with a variety of people, Tom approached him nearing the end of the ball.

"You will cancel any previous engagements for tomorrow." He informed the man.

Pretending that the nod was one of submission rather than one of obvious mockery, Tom left the ballroom with a few of his followers, and returned home.

If he had trouble sleeping that night, it was not because of a slight feeling of guilt, and it was not because of a dream-worthy man named Harry Potter.

 _Getting a little more romantic, yes? I suspect Tom feels truly bad for making Harry suffer in such a way..._


	8. Chapter 8

Harry had had to cancel a meeting at the Ministry for whatever it was that Tom had planned, but that was fine with him. The Ministry was of low priority in itself, and the meeting planned was more so; he gave due warning that he would not be able to attend, and the organisers did not have a problem with this. He did not actually hear from Tom until the evening, which was well past the meeting, but that was still fine. Harry was well aware of where his true loyalties lay, and he had no shame in it; he'd prepared himself for this reality before he even left his old timeline. At 7pm – the moment the grandfather clock chimed the hour – Tom walked into the library where Harry was sat reading, the room lit only by the setting sun.

"Good afternoon, Tom" Harry greeted with a smile.

Tom nodded, and then sat down at a desk rigidly, like a mechanical puppet. He did not move for another thirty minutes, and Harry continued reading for this time, patiently waiting for Tom to speak. He knew the man would always do things in his own time. Each tick of the clock marked the seconds, stretching out and feeling like minutes within each of them. The ticking, and Harry's breathing, in and out at a relaxed pace. The ticking, Harry's breathing, and the occasional turn of a page.

Finally, still staring at the end of the table, he spoke, and it was barely above a whisper.

"Do you hate your Aunt and Uncle, Harry Potter?"

Harry lifted his head from the book he was reading, a little surprised by the question. Tom remained staring at the table, seemingly having to try very hard to hold his emotion in.

"Hate's a strong word," he mused. "I think I did, for a long time. Perhaps not so much anymore. I don't really think about it like I used to. Most of that timeline is behind me now, especially the events before the war."

"Would you want to get rid of it, if you still had to think about it?"

"Get rid of what?"

"Them, the house... anything about the time."

Harry thought for a bit longer. "The house, maybe. Not them though. They're family, as much as I hate to admit it." He'd never considered completely getting rid of the Dursleys, as much as he'd dreamed of punishing them in his younger years.

"What if others were at danger of their treatment? Would you want it gone then?"

"I might. Why are you asking, Tom?"

"I'm requesting you try to understand."

Tom stood, as stiffly as he had sat down, gripped Harry by the forearm in a way that did not allow for protest, and led them outside. From there, he apparated them into a dark field. In the distance there was a looming building. As they approached it, Harry begun to recognise the building from a memory he'd visited many times.

"Woole's Orphanage" he breathed, stopping with Tom by a thick tree not far from the entrance.

It was very different in the dark reality of this timeline to how it had looked in Dumbledore's memories. Of course, it had been creepy at the time, but this reminded Harry of an exaggeratedly gothic-looking building that could easily feature in a muggle film. The outlines of the building were like shadows, facing away from the quickly retreating sun, and the trees around it were tendrils, growing and growing, ready to suffocate it. The orphanage exuded grief and disappointment, as if the moment you stepped inside, your hopes and dreams would be crushed. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if an army of dementors came floating towards them.

"I want it gone." His tone of voice was cold and determined, his face a stoic mask, but Harry's heart clenched at the desperate, pleading eyes of a damaged child, a victim. It was a look he'd never expected to see on the man.

"What about the children?"

"I want it _gone_ , Harry" there was a slight tremor to his voice now, though there was an obvious tone of detestation for the place, and the hand that had not left Harry's arm grew tighter by the second. This was not a Tom that Harry was used to dealing with; he'd have to be careful.

Though Tom did not say much more other than that same declaration, gaining strength and impatience every time he said it, they managed to come to an agreement that come nightfall, Harry would first go in. He would stun the staff, who Tom refused to accept were innocent, and place both a sleeping and warming charm on each of the children, before taking them all out of the building to sleep in the field in safety. This was clearly not what Tom had wanted, but his resentment to the children was not as great as that towards the staff and the building itself. Once this was done, Tom would be allowed in the building to do what he needed. Exactly what he planned for his revenge, Harry did not know, nor did he entirely want to, other than the man would burn it down at the end of his rampage.

They both stood in silence, after that discussion, and waited patiently for night. Tom did not outwardly show emotion, but Harry could sense that he was suffering despite the attempts to hide it; he had never seen the man so vulnerable. Harry had no clue what brought Tom's decision to finally face this, and it was incredibly brave, but he suspected that he would find such a statement almost condescending.

When the time came, Harry approached the orphanage door warily, unlocked it, and stepped inside. Though the darkness likely had a lot to do with it, he felt immediately uncomfortable in the place. Lighting his wand, he made his way around each of the rooms on the first floor, each step echoing in the long halls. Mrs Cole was still there, as Harry remembered her from Dumbledore's memory, if not more withered and frail from age; snoring over a near-empty bottle of whiskey. Some things never changed. He shuddered to think of what Tom would do to her. The woman was quickly stunned, and Harry was soon done with the lower floor. He shivered, walking up the stairs to the next floor, in part from coldness and in part from the environment. The walls were a dirtier grey than they had been when Tom had lived there, and there were cobwebs gathering in the corners of the walls, making the place feel almost dead, if not for the faint sound of breathing that Harry felt he could hear from each room, though he probably couldn't.

Almost involuntarily, Harry stopped outside a specific room. He had never noted the number before, so it was not that knowledge that brought him subconsciously to this door, but countless times of following Professor Dumbledore that way. Breathless, Harry placed his hand on the door; a room that he had only ever seen in a memory not his own, and now he was here. Not with Tom in it, no, but he was _here_. This was where Tom started. This would be the first child to be saved. Harry gently opened the door and stepped inside the dark room.

He was half surprised to see in Tom's bed a sleeping girl, a peaceful expression on her face. She looked about 10, with blonde hair and a facial structure nothing as reagal as Tom's had been even at this age. Still, she would be taken to safety. Yet Harry couldn't help himself first running his fingers along the wall, stroking the curtains, imaging Tom in here. Imagining him as a vulnerable child; bullied, but special... special beyond what anybody knew. The boy who was now a man, waiting outside this building, emotions storming within him, wanting to get rid of his old hell for good. He was not ridding these children of a good home; Harry hoped that in light of the fire, the children would be given a better place to stay. Unfortunately for them, however, muggle society had not yet realised that children needed consistent love and care, but at least they would be given somewhere, somewhere other than here, which Harry could not imagine being quite the same after the arrival of Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. One day, children like these would have more than Tom would have dreamed of at their age.

Harry broke out of the trance and placed the charms on the girl, before apparating her out onto the field, away from Tom, not too close to the building for the sake of safety. He apparated in and out of the rest of the rooms, not wanting to take too much time. While the Ministry at this time was not as competent (if it could be called that) as the one from Harry's timeline in identifying magic against muggles, Harry did not want to risk anybody getting here before they were finished; especially if Dumbledore were to hear of it, for he would undoubtedly know the perpetrator. By midnight, all the children were out, and Tom went in.

Not wanting to disturb the man at all, Harry kept to watching over the orphans, making sure none of them defied his charm somehow and woke up. None of them, Harry could tell, would go on to be as intelligent as Tom; they were all average at best, but that was fine. It only made Tom more special. The man in question was a while in the old building, but eventually he appeared next to Harry, and the moment he did, the orphanage went up in flames. It was a terrible fire, radiating enough heat to warm Harry's cheek from where he was, but they didn't see much of it. Tom had wanted to see it go down, Harry knew, but they didn't want to be caught. Almost as if on cue to that thought, Dumbledore appeared, on the other side of the field to Harry and Tom and closer to the building, just as they apparated away.

* * *

Tom didn't let Harry go home that night. He seemed distant, in a different way to his usual self, and Harry wasn't sure whether there was something else that they needed to do or if Harry was there just for comfort. Not that he was doing much comforting; Tom wasn't speaking, and Harry wouldn't make him. The man did, however, make the both of them a mug of coffee. Very thoughtful, seeing as they were both incredibly tired from the night's events. Perhaps Tom was embarrassed at having been so vulnerable; it wouldn't be surprising, the man was particularly proud of his ability to hide emotion, more still of his ability not to _have_ such weak emotion.

He'd allowed Harry access to the library, so that is where they both sat, reminiscent of their first interactions when Tom was a prisoner to Harry. It was quiet, and while Harry looked through the selection of books, none of which were anything but fascinating, Tom only sat, blank faced but dignified. When morning came, Tom allowed Harry to go home, and the man proceeded to find his way directly to bed, and slept for most of the day.

* * *

The next morning, Harry received an invitation from Harfang for afternoon tea. Pleased for a distraction from the sombre past forty eight hours, Harry gratefully accepted. He did not wear robes that were too formal, but did still want to make himself look presentable and stylish as always, so when he arrived in the Longbottom entrance hall he was feeling confident in himself, and recovered from his temporarily out of routine sleeping patterns.

He was greeted warmly, as usual, and walked into the parlour, where he found that the Longbottoms were also playing host to Professor Dumbledore.

"Good afternoon, Callidora," he greeted as he kissed the woman's hand, "good afternoon Professor Dumbledore, wonderful to meet you again" he said next, shaking hands with the professor.

"The pleasure is all mine," Professor Dumbledore assured, with a slight twinkle in his eye. "Come sit down, I was just relating a terrible incident I encountered the other night to your two Longbottom friends."

It may have been considered odd for Dumbledore to offer Harry a seat in somebody else's home if it were not Dumbledore. Harry poured himself a cup of tea and found a seat.

"So you received a distress signal the other night?" Harfang promted Dumbledore to continue.

"Yes, of a muggle orphanage that's been classed as vulnerable by the Ministry, they put it under my care, see." Harry knew that that was a lie; the Ministry didn't put measures in to prevent attack on muggle institutions, they only reacted when it did happen, if at all. Dumbledore wanted to keep an eye on Tom, and there was a slightly knowing look to his eye whenever he turned to look at Harry in his narration.

"An orphanage of all places!" Callidora cried, her hand flying to her chest in distress at the thought.

"Indeed" Dumbledore confirmed with a solemn nod. "Oddly, the attacker had been merciful enough to remove all the children from their beds; they were all outside in the field, asleep, and there were many of them. When I arrived, however, the building was up in flames, presumably the staff still in there. An unusual crime scene if I ever did witness one. I saw the two perpetrators apparate away just as I got there, but I was unable to identify their magic or trace where they had gone. A terrible thing, they did." The man concluded.

"Very odd, though," grunted Harfang. "To remove the children and then burn their home."

"Quite so," Dumbledore agreed. "Hadrian, you seem moved by my tale." The man turned to Harry with a sympathetic expression on his face. Harry did not think he had shown any outward signs of any emotions at the story other than a socially desirable frown; Dumbledore already suspected him, then. That was a concern; Dumbledore had ways and means of getting these things known.

"It is an awful thing," Harry mused, "to destroy the home of a single child, and worse still to destroy the home of many more than just one as you said. Though I must confess, I do not care much for orphanages. I have visited many orphanages, muggle and wizard alike, in my travels, and rarely do I find one that treats its inhabitants as it should. They are sadistic places, and I can understand resentment for such an establishment, though I do not condone anyone taking the matter into their own hands. Perhaps that is why the children were saved; the perpetrator felt that they were working _for_ the children" he suggested.

"Our Mr Potter has some very strong opinions once again," Harfang exclaimed, clapping his friend on the back. "You raise a good point. What do you say to that then, Professor Dumbledore?"

"I've known orphanages to create great evil," Dumbledore allowed, in a grave voice, "But I believe only great evil in turn would commit such an act as to burn home of so many vulnerable young children."

Harry and the three Longbottoms all agreed with Dumbledore on this, and the topic of conversation turned to lighter subjects, but Harry remained thinking about what Dumbledore had said. It was not difficult to tell that Dumbledore suspected him of being the companion of Tom on that night, and there was no doubt that Dumbledore knew it was Tom; what other wizard would bother with such a place? Dumbledore was a clever man; it would be obvious to Dumbledore that the main perpetrator was Tom from the resentment that would undeniably be held by anyone coming from such a place, and he would not think Tom's followers capable of a humane act such as saving the children, and he already knew of Harry's sympathy towards muggles. Dumbledore was, however, also a good man, and would want to give the opportunity for Harry to repent and to understand his wrong; hence the guilt trip, in the presence of Harry's close friends, to make it doubly affecting to a man that Dumbledore likely hoped would be turned to his cause. The Potters were traditionally a light family, and Dumbledore would want Harry on his side. Unfortunately for the wizard, and Harry, for that matter, such a turn in allegiance would not be happening. Harry knew where his loyalty lay.

Dumbledore would become a dangerous enemy to Harry, if Harry did not start to tread more carefully.

 _I know Tom may seem slightly ooc here, but hear me out... in canon, Voldemort is too far gone to have this experience so obviously he never would, and the Tom we see is not only a restricted image through short moments seen by other people, but Tom never had anybody like Harry before, nobody tried to get him to open up, and so he never had the opportunity to have an experience such as this, and never had somebody who (though he doesn't yet realise the extent of it) he trusts. So the way I see it, considering the change in circumstance and the fact that all those repressed emotions have not yet gone, it is entirely plausible for Tom to show his emotion in such a way. If you've any other questions on my characterisation of Tom, don't be afraid to let me know and I'll try to answer them as best as I can either as a PM or on an author note if I feel like others may have the same question._

 _Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_


	9. Chapter 9

If he was really honest, Tom was feeling... embarrassed. Humiliated, even. He did not want to be feeling at all, especially not over something so foolish. How had he let himself show such weakness in front of anybody? He was not weak. He did not become vulnerable in such ways. He was beyond such human failures. The orphanage was an idiotic issue to delve into; he should've let it be, he should've continued to repress it, he didn't _need_ closure, he shouldn't have gone back there; _why_ did he go back there? Being cursed by Harry Potter over and over to test the bracelet was one thing, but this... this was personal. Far too personal. Harry Potter had no rights being anywhere in this business, in Tom's past, even if he did know something of it from Dumbledore's memories, it was all his fault; bringing the orphanage up when they were eating during his kidnap, to what, make conversation, to show that he _cares_? _Q_ _uestioning_ Tom when he had no right to do so, making him relive the emotions, giving him _new_ emotions with his stupid understanding eyes and he _knew_ he was being childish... And now he was experiencing a very familiar emotion; anger. Anger, at least, he thought he could deal with. Anger that Harry Potter dared to come storming into his life in such a way and _ruin_ everything, because Tom Marvolo Riddle had been on his way to becoming Lord Voldemort, the man who everybody would fear, the man who would show _no_ mercy, and now he would _never_ be Lord Voldemort because of that stupid Harry Potter stirring up the most disgusting of feelings which he had _no idea_ how to deal with.

But then, Harry Potter had told of insanity, of carelessness, of short-sightedness; a key weapon on the light side that Lord Voldemort did not have - could not have. _Love_. How… Dumbledore. Tom sneered at the thought. Love was weakness, he had always known this, he could always tell from a very young age; nobody had loved him, and he was fine.

But Harry Potter had beaten Lord Voldemort with love. And what was this feeling in his chest that _ached_ at the anger he was feeling? Something inside of him, somehow, didn't want to be angry at him. This feeling, among others; Harry Potter had made him feel a copious amount that he was not familiar with, and that, perhaps, was what frustrated him most. Admittedly, logically he was not fully convinced at his anger at Harry Potter, much as he was loath to admit. The man had given Tom no reason _not_ to trust him other than the obvious, being the kidnap, but he'd always been very open to Tom himself, and so it would be fair to be open in return... right? Tom had never trusted anyone, but nobody had ever encouraged his trust. Logically, it made sense for him to now begin to form something akin to trust with Harry Potter. On top of that, he still needed Harry Potter. And the man being around certainly wouldn't do any harm for his gaze… lust, certainly, was not a new emotion inspired by Harry Potter, it was one that he was very familiar with; a welcome alternative to _love_. Dear Salazar, Tom's thoughts were a mess because of that man. But that would have to be pushed away for now; he had other things that he needed to think about.

Tom had called a meeting for the Knights of Walpurgis, merely a routinely report of matters within the Ministry, but important all the same. Abraxas Malfoy had the most influence in politics, so he was the main reporter, but Tom had other men on the inside also. For his new direction, it was essential to keep an eye on the country's politics, as this was how he would be getting into power; from the inside, rather than through violence. His professors at Hogwarts, bar Dumbledore, had always said he would have a place in politics, and now he would fulfill their prophecies, albeit in a way that they may not quite approve.

The Knights were sat around a table in Tom's home, and he was at its head, an air of power almost visible around him. Anybody who met him (apart from that infuriating man who he would not think about now the meeting had started) could sense his power and was immediately respectful in a way they didn't quite understand themselves, unable to resist bowing down to his magical prowess, his alluring charms, and his irresistible good looks; but his followers were submissive on a different level. Those who understood him for who he was, who he would become, his true power and status; they _worshipped_ him. Tom had a slight distaste for the fools if he was quite honest, loyal as they may be, because though there was an element of respect for his power in their loyalty, there was also a desire to benefit themselves from it, Slytherins as they were. Still, beggars could not be choosers; if they got him to where he needed to be, Tom would not complain, and then he could surround himself with people of value… ' _Like **him** '_, a voice in the back of his head insisted on whispering.

"Malfoy," Tom all but purred, breaking the silence and beginning the meeting. Abraxas was a controlled man, as the Malfoys always had been, but even he could not fully resist Tom's charms, as he noted by the slight diluting of the pupils. "Report."

"My Lord," Malfoy bowed his head, "the Minister, privately, has been reiterating his doubts about Dumbledore's bill on the integration of muggleborns, as we have anticipated; the professor has not been able to make an impact on the Minister's beliefs. However, publicly, the Minister has been appearing open to the ideas. As part of his new term, he wants to give the impression that everybody can make a contribution and be considered in the making of laws, in accordance to his promise for a new acceptance; the majority was a close one, and he does not want to lose any more voters by ignoring election promises entirely. This acceptance, however, has been damaging to our opposition to the bill, especially since Dumbledore has enough control over other members of the Wizengamot as it is; I have been attempting to move him away from these notions of acceptance in the case of Dumbledore at the very least, trying to explain to him the dangers of allowing such ridiculous ideas out to the people, but he has only promised to keep an eye on things, and will not retract his public openness."

" _Attempt_ and _try_ are not verbs I wish to be hearing on this table" Tom spat venomously, eyes narrowing, pleased at the barely noticeable flinch. "The incompetent fool only wants to stay in power, as Minister of Magic, it should not be hard for you to use this against him. Plant in his mind that Dumbledore is plotting against him to benefit the leader of the opposition."

"Yes, my Lord." The bow from Malfoy at least was sincere, unlike that disrespectful man, refusing to leave the back of his mind even for this meeting.

"Rosier, what of the backbenchers?"

"My Lord, they are not showing anything very close to fear of the muggle world as of yet, but they are largely growing more set in their ways, wanting to retain the status quo; the past changes that they've seen initiated from the likes of Dumbledore are considered unnecessary and disruptive to them, such as allowing the parents of muggleborns into Diagon Alley, we can harness this, use their distaste for these reforms and spin it into fear. A change, however, my Lord, may be occurring in this area. Hadrian Potter has been requesting meetings with each of the members. He claims a desire to become integrated in the country's politics, but I have not yet been able to find out exactly what he has been discussing, or doing, with the people he has spoken to. Each wizard and witch I have spoken to have come across as defensive. It is not clear whether his interference will help or hinder our cause."

 _Harry fucking Potter_. Interrupting his bloody meeting with this crap. He was not supposed to be getting involved. He was not supposed to lower himself to such a level. He was supposed to be at the top, with Tom, making the decisions but not getting involved with the work of the lower orders, until they had taken over. And Harry Potter would be with Tom at the top even then, for his contributions. Nobody would _dare_ talk with Harry Potter if they had not the status for it. A possessive anger surged through his bloodstream. Harry Potter was his most valuable asset, and he would not have the man fraternizing with anybody but people of status; it was bad enough him befriending those Longbottoms.

"Malfoy, take notes." Tom commanded, and apparated on the spot.

* * *

Harry was just saying goodbye to Harfang at the entrance hall, when there was a loud, angry _crack_ , and a clearly fuming Tom Riddle appeared, whose hair was slightly tousled as Harry had never seen it before (though did not think it was a bad look for the man), almost as if he had been surrounded by a wind of anger. He practically had steam streaming out of his ears. Harfang visibly jumped, but Tom did not acknowledge his presence in the slightest, staring only at Harry with his intense eyes, in what was almostm- _almost_ \- a glare. Apparently he was in trouble. The poor Longbottom looked conflicted; he obviously did not want to leave Harry with the angry Slytherin Heir, concerned as he was for his friend's health, but he could tell that this was not something he should get involved with, and survival instincts were clearly kicking in.

Harry, on the other hand, was not so fearful, despite how he should've been concerned at the obviously angry countenance, especially on a man who usually had a very strong control over his emotions. He could deal with Tom, even if he didn't have the power of attack as a result of the bracelet's protection; the bracelet which he happily noted that Tom was wearing. Defense would be good enough. He had dealt with a worse Dark Lord, having only defensive spells in his repertoire, and got out of it alive. He curled his hand around his wand in anticipation. Tom, surprisingly, did not. Perhaps it would be safe, then.

"Go, Harfang. I'll talk to you later" he promised, a smile on his face.

Harfang still looked unwilling, but apparated away anyway.

"We had a _plan_ " Tom seethed, his eyes unblinking and intense. "You _helped_ me make that plan. And you _ignored_ the plan. _You are not following your role_. This is _not_ what you're supposed to do."

Unsurprised by Tom's controlling words and tone of voice, Harry resisted rolling his eyes, not wanting to anger the man more than he already was. He maintained a controlled, hopefully un-provoking facial expression, and spoke in a measured voice.

"How have I ignored the plan?"

"You have been flitting around with _subordinates_ , doing _who knows what_! Bloody backbenchers! It is not your place to be with the lesser members of society, you should not be associating with them. You are part of _my_ movement, you are in the _privileged_ position of making plans with _me_ , and you are stooping to the level of the _foolish masses. That is not our place_!" Tom fumed, and Harry was surprised at the blatant display of emotion; more so at the unexpected word 'our'. Tom had no reason to be angry though... his meetings with the backbenchers were not, however, directly against the plan. Just a side task, really.

"How did you find out? They can't have told," Harry pondered. He'd not miscalculated; the people he'd met with would _not_ risk it getting out. Every politician, no matter how far down the ladder, would want to avoid scandal like the plague.

"I have people on the inside, you fool. Of course I know," he sneered. "I do not, however, know _what_ these meetings consisted of." he admitted bitterly, then added "But I _will_ , if you value your life." There was a threatening tone to it, but Harry knew that it was an empty threat really, though perhaps the only death threat Tom Riddle had ever given without meaning it. Not that Harry would keep the information from the man, so he really had nothing to fear either way. Well. Until it sank it to Tom what he'd been doing. That may not go down so well.

"I've been..." he stopped, considering how to word it, " _persuading_ the subordinates, as you call them, to open their minds... both to your ideas and my legilimency. I know things about them that they can never let out, which is why it's so important for them to keep their mouths shut."

Tom did not speak for a minute. He seemed to be considering, though the anger was still present.

"How," he started in a dark voice, "exactly, were you _persuading_ the filth, Harry Potter?"

Harry knew he was treading on thin ice here. He knew that when that ice broke, he would be plunged into cold unknown. He knew that Tom would undoubtedly be against what he had done with the backbenchers, knew that he would not necessarily react well what he was about to do either, but Harry would be entirely honest with him. And Harry was a Gryffindor; there was no way he was backing down from this.

Tom did not move his gaze as Harry slowly approached the man, a barely noticeable sway in his hips and a smouldering look. Harry licked his lips in anticipation, and stopped an inch from Tom's face. He had been wanting to do this for… years. And now he was here. The man was frozen as Harry crushed his lips against Tom's, fingernails grazing slightly down his jawline, in a way which would, from experience, make lesser men and women fall to his knees, and another hand pushing the two bodies together, but only for a moment.

As Harry pulled away, they were both expressionless, but in Tom's deep maroon eyes there was a flash, a dangerous flash, and then Harry knew; he'd broken the restraints. His feelings, his desires, they were no longer kept away behind thick walls. Those walls had crumbled. Tom had been broken.

 _Okay, so, as you might be guessing, there is a sex scene coming up. Because of course Tom can't suddenly admit he feelings in words, no, the stubborn git has to do that with actions. For some of you, this may be welcome news. For others, you may be thinking "actually I don't really wanna be reading that", and that's fine; what I'm going to do, is put the next two chapters up in one go. The first chapter will be entirely the sex scene. A relief of sexual tension that they barely knew was there. There will be no plot involved. The chapter after, will begin directly after the dirty stuff, and continue with the story. So if you don't wanna read it, you don't have to! And if you do wanna read it... I hope I meet your expectations_.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry didn't have time to react before a frenzied Tom seized him by the waist, and with another loud crack they appeared elsewhere, and he was pinned down, hard, onto a bed; presumably Tom's.

"Tell me you went no further" Tom growled, a ferocious look in his eyes, the eyes of a man trapped in the body of a panther. Harry felt like he should have been scared, but somehow he still felt safe… odd, how things turn out. Though he didn't have much time at present to ponder over that, being straddled by a very dangerous and very, very angry dark wizard.

"The whole way." Harry confirmed, not taking his eyes off Tom's. He would not hide the truth, despite where this may go. There was another growl, and his hold on Harry tightened.

"How many?" the man all but roared, and Harry was shocked himself at just how much emotion was tumbling out of him, how much Tom had been repressing before his possessive instincts broke the resolve.

"Does it matter?" he breathed in response, heart going faster and faster as Tom's grip became tighter and tighter, adrenaline rising but no way to run and no desire to fight.

"No…" it was a low, dangerous murmur this time, and almost came out as a hiss. "Your body should not have gone anywhere near even _one_ of those filthy things… You are precious, Harry Potter, and your body is only to be touched by _worthy_ hands…"

Harry really, really should not have been surprised. He knew that Tom was possessive, so of course he wouldn't want Harry mingling with people he didn't particularly care for, but _this_ … Bloody hell. He didn't realise that he was _that_ attractive! He'd expected some more build up to Tom deciding that Harry's body was his as well as his mind. But then it would also explain his dislike of Harry dancing with pretty girls at balls. These thoughts soon vanished once again from his head, however, as Tom lowered himself carefully, a hand firmly curving around to hold Harry's head. His eyes were smouldering in a way he had never seen them before; they were possessive and greedy-looking, yes, wildly so, but there was almost a glint that Harry had seen in all those politicians he'd taken; _desire_ , and not just any desire, no. Desire for _him_.

The moment. A moment of relief from impatience, a moment to stop and consider. The look of Tom's desperate eyes, roaming around Harry's face, taking it all in, what was now _his,_ Harry knew. The sound of their breathing, heavy and erratic, the volume of Harry's obscuring that of Tom's. The scent of Tom, crashing over him; invading his senses and taking over his body, stimulating every beat of his heart, guiding his lungs, exploring every part of him, _becoming_ him… Harry felt one last breath over his face before the moment ended, and Tom's lips came down to his, crushing them, and Harry didn't even need to think about parting his lips as his eyes fluttered gently shut, before Tom was tentatively gliding his tongue just past Harry's lips, grazing his teeth against the bottom lip each time his mouth lifted slightly, before crashing down to take Harry's again and again. Soft, and _perfect_ , because of course everything about Tom was perfect, his lips were impossibly soft yet firm against Harry's, and Harry's lips were yearning for that softness to return each time it left, desperate for more, struggling to let out short, light breaths.

"If I do _anything_ at all that you don't want me to," Tom whispered into Harry's ear, a tone of authority seeping through, "you will say no. Under no circumstances are you to let your body be used against your will in any way. You. Will. _Enjoy_. This."

Harry's breath caught in his throat at the implications; that was one way of dealing with consent, though it was reassuring to have the knowledge that he could say no if ever he wanted to. He wasn't necessarily expecting that, and wasn't so sure how he'd reacted if he didn't have that freedom. Tom's fingers crept up to the back of his head and twisted themselves in his hair, using this to tug his head back, and then Tom was at his neck. Harry gasped quietly as the man first kissed the neck tenderly, leaving his skin tingling, before starting to suck at it gently, provoking Harry to stretch his head further back, exposing more of his neck.

"You are _mine_ " he purred, and took Harry's wrists, pulling them up above his head and against the bed posts, and Harry felt a force weave them together in a wordless spell. "You are not leaving."

 _'Kidnap'_ Harry thought, a rush of unexpected pleasure going through him.

Tom reached for the buttons of Harry's shirt, undoing them excruciatingly slowly. For each inch exposed, Tom bestowed ten kisses, passionate enough to increase Harry's heartbeat, gentle enough for Harry's back to be arching in a plea for more, only to be pushed down every time. Warm lips on cool skin, tender skin that was not used to being caressed, sucked, bitten, goosebumps forming everywhere that Tom had been, a trail slowly leading down to Harry's hips, where the lips stopped momentarily. A short pause, and Harry could feel the hot breath on his skin; the lips seemed to be contemplating. In a movement that was a fraction of the time spent travelling down his body, the came back up and Tom's lips came crashing down once more on Harry's, and his hands ran through his hair, down his back, over his outstretched forearms.

He wasn't sure when his shirt had been taken off completely, but now that it had, he felt more exposed as he had before, Tom's hands occasionally sliding down to his stomach as they kissed, letting his fingers gently explore the small softness beneath his belly button and at his sides.

At some point during this, Harry realised, Tom must have lost concentration in his feelings, because the spell holding his hands up had gone. With strength that was likely only given to him through adrenaline – because it would take more than average strength to disturb Tom in his passion – Harry threaded his fingers into Tom's silky hair, and pulled his lips away from the fervent kiss. Any retaliation that Tom had planned for this disruption was cut short by Harry bringing his lips to Tom's neck. He felt the man's Adam's apple bob in a deep swallow, and a shuddering breath tickled the back of Harry's head in response. He had to stop, however, both out of shock and obedience when Tom spoke in a sibilant hiss…

" _You dare releasse yoursself from the resstraintss that_ I _gave you?"_

Harry felt a shiver go down his spine; parseltongue.

" _I possesss you, Harry Potter, my treassure, you will not dissobey me_ " the man continued, his behaviour becoming more serpentine as he trailed up the side of Harry's body with quick bites and playful kisses, but the sinister tone was still present. " _You are mine, do you undersstand me?"_

 _"I am yourssss_ " Harry managed to respond in breathy parseltongue of his own.

After the bondage was put back in place, he was rewarded by Tom opening his trousers and reaching a hand inside, expertly stroking him, and Harry leaned into the touch, far more pleasurable than anything he'd experienced before; nobody would ever be able to replicate the sensuality of Tom's movements. He then moved down to kiss, teasingly, around Harry's hips, the pit of his stomach, going gradually further down until he reached the beginning of Harry's dark hair, then he would go back up again, and Harry could feel the smirk against his skin as he held Tom tightly between his legs, wanting him to go further.

Eventually, Tom complied.

It was wet, and actually surprisingly sloppy for the seemingly spotless Tom Riddle, but Harry was unable to supress a moan as he felt Tom's mouth around him, and felt a low hum from his throat in return. Knowing he couldn't do much, Harry resorted to bucking his hips, the movement becoming faster and faster until he knew he couldn't take it anymore and he was reaching his climax and-

Tom stopped, clearly able to sense this, and trailed his kisses back up to Harry's neck again, instead thrusting his own hips against Harry.

" _Would you like me to take you, Harry?_ " he hissed, again in parseltongue.

" _I need you to take me_ " Harry hissed back, leaning as much as he could into the grinding of their bodies.

" _Do you want me, Harry?_ " came the teasing reply, and Harry bit down on his lip, hard, at the still-possessive tone.

 _"I need you, Tom"_ he panted, knowing exactly what the man wanted out of him, and all-too willing to give it. " _I can't stand the thought of anybody else here, Tom, I am dependent on_ you, _I need_ you _"_

Harry started as he felt the lubricated fingers inside him, testing him, and he knew that what he had said was true; while Tom was still working out his feelings, Harry had established long ago that he could only have Tom, that Tom was going to be his source of happiness and pleasure. Tom wasn't there yet, but he didn't need to be; hell, Harry wasn't expecting him to realise his sexual desire so soon, but jealousy does that to people.

As Tom thrust himself into Harry over and over, he lost all thoughts again, filled with the painful pleasure that was going through him. Eyes closed gently, back arched, Tom's lips against his throat, and small gasps with every movement, Harry had found his heaven; the waiting he had done to get here had been like waiting for Christmas to come in January, but this made it worth it all.

 _So like... here it is! So sorry for the delay, I was struggling a bit with the next chapter, but y'know. I'm hoping the bondage will compel you to forgive me ;)_


	11. Chapter 11

Tom felt a glowing warmth inside of him; he had taken Harry Potter, and now the man was his. The possessive feeling was now bursting freely out of his heart, instead of clawing at the walls in a desperation to own. He was completely and utterly satisfied, and he almost felt as if he didn't need to take the Ministry, too. Of course, he did still want the Ministry, but he didn't _need_ it, not nearly as much as he had needed Harry Potter. The man in question still lay on his bedsheets, the rise and fall of his pale chest, calming down after the exertion it had experienced. Beautiful. Absolutely perfect. Only the best for Tom Riddle, after all. Tom quickly had his trousers done up again, and his hair was easily put back into shape. His followers would still be waiting for his return to the meeting, he was sure of it.

He left Harry Potter to make his own way out, and though he was half expecting the man to take one of his own shirts after he realised Tom had banished the one he'd been wearing, he would certainly not complain that in the end, he had not. In fact, it made more sense; Harry Potter was too polite to take somebody else's shirt without asking, and if the Knights noticed the topless man strolling past their meeting room, door open ajar, they did not dare question it.

* * *

Once home again, Harry felt like celebrating. He'd been rewarded in the most wonderful way, after all, for coming into this timeline. True, his arse was a bit sore, but what could he say? That was only natural, and it was nowhere near on the level of euphoria he'd felt when the act was taking place. He wanted to celebrate with dinner, on his successful afternoon. Perhaps not dinner with Tom; that seemed a bit soon, all things considered, knowing that Tom would need time to consider the level of intimacy he'd initiated, even if the man himself did not realise this. Dinner with Tom could come another time. Dinner with the backbenchers, also, simply would not do; he would have to cancel all future meetings with them, having had a most _thorough_ telling off about that. He'd invite the Longbottoms out. Harfang would undoubtedly be concerned as well, so soothing his fears this way would be killing two birds with one stone.

After finding a new shirt to put on, Harry strode over to the fireplace to contact the couple. Harfang did not take long to respond to the fire call.

"Harry! Are you alright? What happened?" he exclaimed immediately.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry! I promised you I know what I'm doing, didn't I?" he was certainly not going to delve into what had happened to Harfang.

"You look suspiciously content, I know that isn't right Harry, I know he's up to something. Riddle is notoriously charming when he needs to be, don't let him manipulate you!"

"Harfang, _trust_ me" Harry insisted once again. "I know more than you think I do. Besides, will you please just let me invite you and Callidora out for dinner already?"

The man looked sheepish, "that would be grand Harry, a wonderful thought. I shall get Callidora to find somebody to watch over the children."

"Wonderful, wonderful. Be at my home for 7:30 and I shall apparate us to the venue."

"I'll see you there, then, Harry. And be careful."

"I will, don't you worry. Farewell, my friend!" Harry laughed as Harfang disappeared to find his wife.

Fiercely loyal, are Longbottoms.

* * *

It did not seem too long before the Longbottoms arrived, looking incredibly dapper, and Harry certainly felt the same; wizarding fashion did not change much, but he really did prefer that of the 50s. As Harry had booked their place, once they arrived at the door of the restaurant, a waiter was present to escort them directly to their table, placing a menu before each of them.

It was a grand restaurant, and though Harry didn't exactly consider it to be his preferred style, he knew that in these times, it was very important for wizards of status to be seen in the right places; you would not catch the Malfoys ordering a bacon butty from the Leaky Cauldron. The hall was incredibly large, with some of the walls bending in to provide a more hidden table, used most by celebrities avoiding the press. In the far corner, there was a smooth jazz band playing, making for a relaxed atmosphere accompanied with the soft clinking of cutlery and light chatter. The ceiling was tall, and lined with floating candles, much like that of Hogwarts, and there was a single tall candle for each of the silk covered tables. The group of three sat in silence for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere and reading the menu.

"Anyone for an elven wine?" Harry put forwards, and there was a nod of agreement from both Longbottoms.

"I heard this place has the finest" Callidora gushed, before returning to her menu.

Harry was just returning his attention to the food menu when he felt a warm shiver go up his spine. He could not see, but he could feel the presence. As if on cue, Tom Riddle strolled past the table with a trail of his lackeys behind him, being led to their own place. No eye contact was made, but from the slight turn of the head Harry knew that Tom had clocked him as well. Looks like he wasn't the only one with the idea of celebrating the day's events. Harfang leaned slightly into the table.

"What exactly _is_ it you were doing with Riddle earlier?" he murmured, a subtle look behind him as the group sat down.

"Harfang," Harry near-pleaded "I am truly afraid I cannot say." He wasn't sure how much of the conversation topic he would take before beginning to turn red, no matter how much he had practiced the cover of his emotions.

"I just want to know what sort of business the likes of _you_ has with the likes of _him_ , especially you knowing his reputation."

"Gentlemen, please" cut in Callidora. "May we _not_ have this discussion at dinner?"

Conveniently, the waiter returned to take their orders, distracting them momentarily. More distracting, however, was that Harry was feeling watched. Knowing not to make an obvious looked, Harry glanced towards Tom's table. Though Tom was facing Harry's way, he was not looking at him. Perhaps it was just the angle. Once he looked away again, however, the feeling returned. And again. And again. Yet every time he snuck a glance at the man, he seemed entirely engaged in conversation.

"Harry, I do want to know your opinion on something" Callidora started.

"Ask away, my lady," Harry allowed, tilting his head.

"My husband and I are having conflicting views on how much we should teach the little ones before they go to Hogwarts. Harfang is suggesting that we should teach them all the spells before they attend, so that they know what's happening and don't fall behind. I am of the belief that we need only teach them how to read and write, so that they can at least know how to complete homework that is given to them."

"Harfang, I understand your concerns, I really do" Harry started, and the man was already beginning to slouch, seeing that Harry was about to contradict him and knowing that he would not be able to argue his case outnumbered. "But these are _children_ , let them have their childhood before they go to school! Let them be learning new and exciting spells with all the other children, let them grow at the appropriate rate. Any children of yours, I can guarantee will be bright and magically powerful. They won't fall behind, yeah?"

Callidora's face lit up in a smug smile, and Harfang merely huffed "fine".

"Have you heard this new Bill of Dumbledore's?" Harfang changed the subject, now leaning into the table again in anticipation. "He wants to let muggle parents of magical children visit Hogwarts. An **absolute** madman, he is!"

What? Harry couldn't remember such a thing being ever introduced in his timeline. In fact, Dumbledore hadn't made any radical suggestions such as this until Voldemort was thought to be long gone, from what Harry had seen in his research. He must be getting concerned, Harry himself being an uncertain variable having been introduced into the equation. Callidora was shaking her head, curls bouncing sadly as she did so.

"It's one thing allowing them in Diagon Alley, but Hogwarts is absolutely saturated in magic, and a definite danger to muggles even if we factor out just the thought of having muggles snooping around in our business." Harfang shuddered at his wife's words. Harry leant back in his chair, thoughtful.

"Dumbledore's greatest falls are when he fails to consider the Statute of Secrecy. To allow the muggleborn parents to see Hogwarts and enter it for what it is, the wards around the castle would have to be weakened. The wrong muggles, with stronger resistance to repelling magic may stumble upon it. There's too many risks. I don't know how serious Dumbledore is about it, actually. He's a clever man, the only reason he'd not consider this is if he's getting desperate…" perhaps he shouldn't have been having his internal monologue aloud, especially considering how odd it must be for him to know so much about Dumbledore, but it couldn't really be helped. He was certainly confused about it, but it wasn't necessarily a massive issue.

"It's understandable for him to be concerned," Harfang murmured, and Harry only just caught the warning look that Callidora sent him as he started. "Riddle's been progressing faster than expected, and in a different direction than first calculated. You know how Dumbledore feels about him."

A slight tension reached the table. A newcomer would not have noticed it at all, but Harry knew that three practiced socialites could sense it, could predict it merely from circumstance. The group talked politics, and often had disagreements, that much was true, but they never had clashes enough to break the friendship. They were close. But it was yet to be tested if they were close enough to bridge the gap of Tom. Harry knew that despite how much he had grown to like the Longbottoms, he was not here for them. He would choose Tom over them in an instant, if it came to it. And the Longbottoms, though nowhere near in knowledge of just how far it went, could sense that this was a topic to be treated with extreme caution. The previous comment was perhaps the limit. The expected response of a concerned friend. But this was mixing politics and relationships, and Harry knew that Harfang knew that that was never a good move.

"Your wine, sirs and madam" a waiter interrupted, very likely trained to identify when slight tensions needed easing. Harry was certainly glad for the distraction. And the alcohol.

They all nodded their thanks, and took a sip from their glasses (a gulp, of course, would be unacceptable). Callidora had been correct, as the wine truly was splendid. It was cool on his tongue, but when he swallowed the liquid it warmed him through to his fingernails. Just what he needed, really.

Conversation moved onto lighter topics. The food arrived; all fantastically prepared, and most definitely worth the ridiculous price. Callidora provided the group with light selections of gossip, Harfang told a few of his stories from his Hogwarts days, and the mood had largely improved. If not for the fact that Harry _still_ felt like he was being stared at. Tom must just have a separate pair of eyes for keeping an eye on his possessions. He mostly avoided such thoughts, however, for the remainder of the evening, because he could always feel the beginnings of a blush, despite how hard he tried to keep a grip of his expression. Must be the wine.

At the end of the evening, Harry said an enthusiastic goodbye to his dinner company, and apparated back home, quickly making his way to his bed to fall on it with a thump.

Sometimes he wondered if he would ever settle for an uneventful life.


	12. Chapter 12

Tom could not actually sleep that night. Which was certainly not something that he was used to, especially with everything going exactly as it should be. His Knights were infiltrating the Ministry at an impressive rate now with Harry Potter's help, Dumbledore was becoming unwise in his desperation, and he was in the full possession of Harry Potter. Well, possession was a loose term. He liked to think about it that way, of course, but Harry Potter was a special case among his possessions; for Harry Potter to be a worthy possession, to reach his full potential as a possession, he needed some room to be free and to grow naturally. That was the beauty of the man – his freedom. And perhaps, that was why Tom couldn't seem to drift off for the first time in years.

Harry Potter was more than just a possession.

It had not really hit him until he began to reflect on the chilling jealousy he had felt when the man admitted to what he had been doing with the backbenchers; it made him uncomfortable thinking about it now. It had felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice cold water over his head, draining the heat from his very soul. He had felt like he was going to throw up on the spot. He had been shaking on the inside, despite being able to hide it at the time.

Tom could say with a fair amount of confidence that that was not the feeling he would be getting if somebody had used his toothbrush.

That meant that Tom had allowed himself to fall into very dangerous territory. Of course, the bastard had known himself that this would happen, it was only too obvious in retrospect. From the very start, Harry Potter had led him towards this feeling by displaying it himself; he had _trusted_ Tom to have his wand back; he had taken an _interest_ in Tom's childhood; he had _supported_ Tom when they had gone to the orphanage. Knowing, that in his own time, Tom would do the same for him, _trusting_ him to cast the cruciatus curse on him, _supporting_ him directly after that, and then Harry Potter didn't have to do anything at all to get Tom to take him to bed.

He had opened Tom's feelings, knowing that with these examples of friendship what Tom would soon enough feel. Knowing as well that Tom would trust that Harry Potter felt exactly the same, because logic alone - despite the memories of gentle words, teasing looks, the way they danced - logic alone would not have been enough, but trust; that was the key in this. Trust allowed him truly to believe that the feeling was mutual.

And this is what kept Tom up. The infuriatingly fast and hard pounding of his heart against his chest, not knowing what to do because this had never happened before. He had never thought himself capable of the feeling. But of course nobody had given him reason to feel it. Merlin, he wanted badly to be pissed off at the man for doing this to him, for giving him this weakness, yet at the same time he knew that it was done not out of malice, but a genuine belief that this would be the right thing for Tom. But what would his followers think? Surely they would not approve.

But they already knew. Gah! They already could see it, he'd been so fucking foolish, he hadn't hid it from anybody but himself! Everybody would have seen him dancing with the man at those balls, when Tom _never_ danced before Harry Potter came along, and had not cared at the time that they would have seen the man walk past the meeting door topless-

But of course he didn't care. Why should he? His followers knew of his power, oh yes, and they would not dare change how they saw him based on his own personal matters, his own intimate relations. It was none of their damn business, what he did in his own time. They would follow with the same reverence as they always did.

Yes, that was it. It would be nothing, to them, that Harry Potter was intimate with their leader. Especially once they learnt of his important role in moving their plans forward, saving them from a horrible fate of failed tyranny; they would not question the man joining Tom at the top, and there was no doubt that that was where Harry Potter belonged. It was all fine. He had been worrying needlessly, like a frivolous young lady with her eyes on a handsome man. Much of his recent behaviour had been irrational in such a way; staring so intently at the man in the restaurant, enamoured by how fluid his every movement was... no; that was not appropriate of him. But it was all resolved now.

...

So why was he still awake?

Ah, flashbacks.

How Harry Potter had dared to move from his bondage that night... The punishment he had given was not nearly enough. That would need correcting, in his thoughts.

It may be a while longer, before Tom got to sleep.

* * *

'Have you realised?' Harry wondered, staring up at the ornate ceiling.

Of course, even if Tom had realised, Harry would not find out straight away. Presumably, when the occasion called for it, the lust element of it would not be denied acknowledgement. But feelings would be a harder one for Tom to swallow. Harry wouldn't bring it up, as much as he was tempted. He had all the time in the world, really. There were more important things. Namely, the letter from Dumbledore.

When Harry was ready to fall asleep on his bed, an owl had started tapping irritably on his window, and he had recognised that elegant scrawl immediately:

 _Hadrian Potter,_

 _I hope you will pardon me for taking the liberty of writing to you. I have, of course, heard nothing but praise from your dear friends, and I thought I should like to know you better._

 _Would you mind meeting me at the Hog's Head tomorrow at 4? A chat and a nice drink may be just the distraction we both need from all this political business, don't you think?_

 _A. Dumbledore_

The Hog's Head was certainly an odd choice for Dumbledore... It was a pub known for being a fairly good place to have a private conversation, and was often used by wizards with darker backgrounds. Dumbledore could have met Harry anywhere he chose – the Three Broomsticks, The Leaky Cauldron, even Hogwarts – but for some reason he chose the most notoriously shifty wizard pub. Perhaps he had managed to enlist Aberforth to keep an eye on the conversation. Tom should probably know about the meeting, nonetheless.

So, out of bed once again, and Harry walked over to his desk to pen a brief letter:

 _Tom,_

 _Meeting Dumbledore at 4 tomorrow in the Hog's Head on request, thought you should be aware._

 _Harry_

His owl flew out of the window, and Harry knew that there wouldn't be need for a response, so finally he was able to get to sleep.

* * *

Harry kept his shoulders squared as he entered the tavern, though he was sure not to make his entrance too eye catching; he was wearing a simple black robe so as not to draw attention to himself, though the hood was not up. Not to his complete surprise, Harry found that both Dumbledore and Tom were sat in the pub, at opposite ends of the room, Dumbledore smiling contently to himself as he sipped a butterbeer, Tom brooding over a tankard, hidden by a glamour. Harry had not asked him to come, but he supposed it was only natural for Tom to want to observe, due to the strong distrust of Dumbledore.

The Hog's Head had a low ceiling, and Harry had to duck to dodge the occasional wooden beam. The dirty walls were lit by gaslights, and the scattered tables tilted on the uneven stone floor. The barkeep, a man with a beard greyer and shorter than Professor Dumbledore's, grunted occasionally as he cleaned a glass.

When Dumbledore noticed Harry, he stood up with a wide smile, and that twinkle in his eyes.

"Hadrian, wonderful to see you, do sit down," he beckoned, and Harry did so, obediently. "I am so glad you were able to join me at such short notice, I do apologise if I've caused any inconvenience."

"No, none at all" Harry reassured, smiling himself. His back was to Tom, but he was sure the man would be keeping a sharp eye on the interaction. "I was pleasantly surprised to receive your invitation, Professor."

"Albus, Albus, please," the old man insisted, practically wafting the title away. "Besides, the pleasure is all mine. I have never gotten to speak to you properly, despite my desire to, your presence in this country being quite sudden. It seems there is a, ah, force, shall we say, that's preventing us from talking," he smiled again, the twinkle in his eyes intensifying.

"True, we seem always to meet at the wrong times!" Harry agreed. "I don't think the chances of us being interrupted now are so great, though."

"No, I suppose not. I must confess however, that from what I have heard from you I am fascinated. You have incredibly progressive views for a wizard of our time."

"Ah, well, I suppose I owe that from having traveled a great deal. The British wizarding community is rather isolated in its current state, don't you think? Not a great deal of international relations, it really does appear to be weakening us."

"I quite agree, Hadrian, very wise words from a man as young as yourself. Yes, we are growing distant from our roots. It is a great shame. But of course I promised conversation outside of politics! Let's see, do tell me of your upbringing, it must have been rather unique might I say?"

"Unique indeed, I'm afraid" Harry let his face turn grave. Lying is best done with as much truth as possible. "I grew up an orphan."

"I am so very sorry to hear that, how insensitive of me" Dumbledore hastily said, sympathetically.

"It's okay, don't worry. I am partially glad for it. While I would have very much liked to have grown up with a loving family, if I had, I would not be where I am now. As tragic as it is, having no parents has helped me grow. For the first years of my life, I was brought up with my aunt and uncle. You may think that I was fortunate to have family available to care for me, but no. They did not care for me other than a roof over my head and food. My mother was a muggleborn, and this was the family of her sister. They abused me rather terribly in their fear of my magic. They drilled into me that magic didn't exist, very fearful that I would grow up like my mother. I didn't learn that it was real until I left them."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, eyes understanding, but Harry wondered if the man was already making the links between him and Tom in their childhood.

"That first part of my life taught me how to survive. Taught me how to be strong. Taught me how cruel humanity could be. Then, one day when I was out with my aunt and uncle at the age of 7, I suddenly fell out onto the road. I suspect I was pushed, but it didn't matter; here, I performed my most extreme accidental magic. I appeared on the other side of the road. A wizard had been the only witness, and he took me away."

"He kidnapped you?" Dumbledore asked, brows raised.

"Yes, he did. There's no denying that what he did was illegal. But more importantly to me, he saved me. This man, a German, as it happened, took me away from my abusive family and raised me as his own. He was a traveler, and I was taken to all varieties of different wizarding cultures, and muggle ones too. This part of my life, I learnt to love. He raised me as a strong wizard, and he raised me to value love above all. When he died, not long after my 18th birthday, I didn't cry, nor did I mourn; I held my head high, I buried him, and I vowed to be the man he wanted me to be. And that is how I became who I am today."

Harry wasn't lying too extremely when he spoke of travelling – immediately after the war, he had wanted to escape, and so for a year he didn't return to Britain. The man who "saved" him was based on his childhood image of Dumbledore. It could perhaps have been his life in another dimension.

"That is truly a fantastic tale, and as I had guessed, incredibly unique. You must have a very strong will."

"I'd like to think so."

"I would love, Hardrian, to be able to say I had a childhood as different as yours. I didn't, though I would argue I grew just as well from it. In my experience, Hadrian, I too learnt about love, though in a more devastating way."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. Dumbledore wasn't actually going to tell him about his childhood, was he? Him, an apparent stranger, when he didn't think it was important enough to tell the boy who looked up to him like nobody else? Though this was a new timeline.

"When I was just leaving Hogwarts, I fell in love with a German boy around the same age as myself."

Apparently so.

"Our minds seemed completely the same. We were both intelligent, ambitious, and most of all we wanted to make an impact on the world. But what we wanted, Hadrian, is not what _we_ wanted. It was what he wanted. And I, in love as I was, thought that I wanted it too."

Dumbledore shook his head gravely.

"What Gellert wanted, was wizard supremacy. He, and I at the time, felt that wizards should rule over the muggles, and keep them in check. As you know, Hadrian, my views now are in no way that extreme. I would never again consider such a horrific thing. But then, I did. For love. But it was a selfish love. I didn't learn until one fateful day. It haunts me still. We got into a fight. I do not even now know whose spell it was, but… my sister died, that day. She was terribly ill."

Harry knew the story, but had never seen the genuine pain in Dumbledore's eyes while it was being told. And it was no difficult to work out just why he was being told this. Dumbledore was sharing his secrets, trusting in Harry, 'for the greater good' – to stop Harry from siding with Tom. He could see the similarities in their situation, and wanted to 'save' Harry from his fate.

"I had wanted to see the best in him, but... he grew up to be Grindelwald. As you may well heard, I defeated him in battle, and had him locked up. I learnt, then, that love for the world is greater than love for personal happiness. Would you not agree?"

Harry nodded "There is indeed a lesson there for everybody to learn."

Dumbledore smiled at that.

"I'm afraid, Hadrian, that I must be off. Head teacher duties and all of that. It was a pleasure talking to you."

"You too, I am most honoured to have had your company."

The two men stood and shook hands, and Harry watched Dumbledore exit, purple robe dragging against the stone. Harry ordered a quick drink, giving time to allow Tom to exit far enough away from him and Dumbledore to look like his own exit was unrelated. If Aberforth really was on board with his brother on this, Tom would not want to be caught eavesdropping.

It was then a while longer before Harry found Tom at the apparation point, glamour now gone.

"I can't believe he expects you to believe that load of rubbish – as if Albus Dumbledore was in love with Gellert Grindelwald" Tom sneered.

"It's true, actually. Not that he ever told me himself, of course, when he knew me. I had to find out through some horrid woman's biography of him," that was mostly what Harry had taken from that meeting. Dumbledore only told people these things when he thought it would benefit him, and Harry should not at this point be surprised.

"Ah."

"Hm. Regardless, it's a load of rubbish all the same. He thinks I'm like him, but I'm not. He doesn't understand what I've truly been through. All my life I've been sacraficing for this "greater good" and I've never benefited from it. I came here for myself, and I'll be damned if I don't follow that through."

"I understand."

"Thanks though, Tom."

The man frowned. "What for?"

"Why for protecting me, of course!" Harry exclaimed, eyelashes fluttering.

Tom's frowned deepened. "We both know that Dumbledore is a force beyond our individual control; he clearly suspects you of actively assisting me, you would not have been safe in the tavern alone."

"Oh I know" Harry reassured. "I'm grateful all the same."

Tom just rolled his eyes and apparated away.

 _So... I'm thinking maybe a couple more chapters left? I'm coming to a good sort of place to round things on, and I don't want the fic to drag. It'll likely be one more chapter and then an epilogue - feel free to give me ideas on what you would like to see in the epilogue, though I do have a vague image myself of how I want it to be. Thanks for reading!_


	13. Chapter 13

Tom stared down at the invitation with muted dismay, lips pursed. Why on earth were these people so obsessed with balls? And this was a _Ministry_ ball, just to make matters worse for him. Ministry balls were Tom's absolute least favourite type of ball. Because not only was is a _ball_ , making it awful by default, but there was no restrictions on the guest list; any ministry official could attend, was expected to attend, even, which meant that the place would be swarming with people who didn't even know how they were expected to act at a ball. A load of bumbling idiots on top of the tedious old men.

And Merlin, those _backbenchers_ were going to be there. Tom, of course, had memorised each and every one of them even before the incident, so he certainly knew who they were, but what he did _not_ know was which of them had been so intimate with his property. He didn't particularly want to know, either; those backbenchers were important to the cause, and it would be impractical for his jealousy to get in the way of that, were any one of these people to end up in an... unfortunate accident. Especially since those who had had the interaction were, loath as he was to admit, more likely to support the cause. Though that didn't mean he had to be civil. He would just stay away from them.

It was an important opportunity, really, this ball. The Malfoys would be hosting, and every one of his Knights would be there, and they would all be socialising appropriately, slipping in some political conversation here and there to gain more grassroot support. This ball is where they would make themselves look good by participating enthusiastically in the ball and communicating with all levels of the order, and where they would inevitably imprint their beliefs into the weaker minds. But it was still a _ball,_ and Tom desperately wished that there were a better way of improving the image of their cause.

On the plus side, Harry Potter would be there. Not that that should be a plus side. But Tom knew that if the ball was really getting to him, he'd be there as a relief from it all. And the Knights would be doing their jobs, so Tom didn't have to spend his whole time socialising, though he knew he had the most charisma out of them. He'd send letters to them all now, just to make sure that they knew what they should be doing, lacking initiative as they were.

* * *

Stepping into the ballroom, Tom immediately felt his guard go up. His guard, naturally, was always up, but especially in balls. Nobody would necessarily try anything obvious with so many witnesses, but it was an ideal setting for spying. Plus, Dumbledore was already present, chatting amiably with some other Hogwarts teachers. Well, a lot of people were already present. Tom could feel his claustrophobia rise up inside him, but pushed it to the side; he had been in many anxiety-inducing situations, but never had he shown his weakness. He set about the task at hand, approaching a random group of friends to talk to and acquaint himself with for his purpose. The ballroom was the same that had been used for the Yule Ball, but it was very different this night. Much of the grandeur of it remained, but there was no extra decoration. It was plain, other than several tables which held leaflets to be picked up. Nobody ever actually looked at the leaflets, of course, but the Ministry always insisted on having them all the same.

Most of the faces around him were like that of animals', in that while Tom could identify them each as individuals and recite their names and what they did, they were all still animals, and not particularly worth his notice other than a feigned interest. Socialising, too, was different; tailored, for each person he was talking to, and each word had meaning behind it which Tom thought through at a rapid pace, yet he was so used to it that the work that went into it seemed like nothing. And so, person upon person upon person went by him, talking for a while, nodding earnestly at his opinions, before drifting away once again into the masses. The repetition was almost enough to sooth his anxiety completely.

Until a deceptively innocent grandfather-like voice found him.

"You know, I can never decide about you, Tom. About anything really. What do you really feel? What do you really want? Are you one for grand ministry balls like this, or are you one for dark, run-down taverns? Who are you really?"

Tom turned to face the smiling man. Though Tom had of course expected Dumbledore to know that he had been in The Hog's Head, the old man always could say things in the most infuriating way. But he wouldn't let it show that he'd riled him up already. Though he suspected that his mask had cracked minutely, it was quickly back up again. Annoyingly, the only person who would have noticed the change was Dumbledore himself.

"You see, Professor, I am a man of mysteries" Tom smiled back, taking a sip of his wine. "Perhaps it has not occurred to you, that in all cases, I like to be acquainted with both sides of the picture?"

"But of course" Dumbledore nodded, "though I myself prefer not to go to such extreme ends. Are you enjoying the ball so far? The Malfoys certainly do know how to host, I must say."

"That they do, Professor. I have been enjoying myself tonight, yes." Still incredibly wary of the man, Tom didn't want to say too much more. Though it was very typical of Dumbledore merely to start up a conversation in order to mock, there was always the chance of an ulterior motive.

"I see you haven't yet had a chance to talk to your friend Hadrian, unless that is intentional; not on bad terms already, are you?"

Of course.

"Not at all, Sir. I merely have been occupied so far; there are a great many people here tonight, it is a struggle to find the opportunity to speak with those we wish to, have you not been finding so?"

"Yes, yes, I suppose so. Still, I am glad you are on good terms. There seems to be something quite special between the two of you. I think he rather likes you." His eyes were gleaming now, possibly hoping to frighten Tom off with the thought of feelings. Unfortunately for Dumbledore, this was a conversation that he had already had with himself.

"Yes I should hope so, I do believe I have found something of a friend in him." Tom agreed cautiously. He had to be very careful what he said. He didn't want to give the old man too much ammunition.

"A friend?" Dumbledore's brows raised into his hair. "My Tom, I don't recall you ever having had one of those in your life, you must be terribly pleased with yourself."

The patronising tone was what tipped him over the edge. He was at serious risk of a great outburst of emotion, at a Ministry ball of all places.

"Yes, I am thank you" he replied curtly. "My apologies, Professor, but it has just occurred to me that I actually had some business I need to attend to in Malfoy Manor tonight. It was pleasant speaking to you."

He did not even bother to wait for Dumbledore's farewell before seeking out Abraxas, who was speaking to the Minister quite enthusiastically.

"Malfoy, will you please inform Mr Potter that he is to find his way to the second parlour in precisely half an hour's time."

"Of course" Abraxas said, bowing his head but not doing any more in an act submission in front of the Minister.

Tom made his way to that room himself, to attempt to compose himself.

It was infuriating. All that he had worked for. His whole life, he had built himself up to be the strongest wizard in Britain, to have no weakness, no fear, yet Dumbledore _always_ got in the way. It was not what he said that did it. It was merely the reminder that there was someone out there who knew Tom's weaknesses, someone who could crack his mask, someone who dared to insult him so blatantly and refer so casually to the childhood that he himself made Tom endure. And all the while, the anxiety at the back of his mind increased as the crowds of people become floods of people as Dumbledore spoke, and Tom was not allowed to be this vulnerable and it was absolutely disgusting that he needed to find the help of somebody else to compose himself. It was not allowed, and yet it was. It always would be, even when he was at the top of wizarding Britain. It would be if he ruled over the magical world – the human world. It would _still_ be there. That infuriatingly human weakness. And suddenly, half an hour had past.

"Tom, what's up?" Harry Potter greeted casually as he strode into the room, shutting the door behind him.

He didn't trust himself to speak. Regardless of how forward it was, regardless of how weak and vulnerable it showed him to be, he pinned the man against the wall and took his lips for his own, reclaimed his property, tugging desperately with his lips and his teeth, revelling in the surprised gasp that came from Harry Potter's mouth, and relishing the moan as he brought his lips down to the neck, nipping biting and sucking, the pleasure rushing through both of their bodies. Not even a moment was needed for Tom to suddenly feel in control again; _he_ was the one who decided the movement of Harry Potter's lips, _he_ was the one who decided when Harry Potter felt pleasure, when Harry Potter made a small sound of desire, _he_ was the one who controlled all this, and the feeling was absolutely euphoric. One hand tugging gently in the beautiful raven hair, one hand firmly on his hip to keep him in place, while Harry Potter's hands were given permission by Tom to roam as they pleased. There was no question as to the room they were in, the ball they were supposed to be at, the social duties that they both had. The moment was their world, and it was Eden all within their movements and their heavy breathing. The moment led Tom's hand down to the waistband of the other man's trousers, and just as he was given the breathy okay of Harry Potter, the moment was shattered.

"Oh so this is your way of expressing feelings, Tom? Rather unconventional I must say, but I suppose it does the trick. Well, probably not, actually. Most people prefer the three words, in my experience."

They both froze. The very man who Tom had come to escape from…

"Dumbledore" Tom growled, unable to reign in his emotions having been caught in such a vulnerable place. "You are _not_ welcome."

"Ah, but of course" he agreed, voice sympathetic. "Only, I did not come to interrupt the lover. I came to interrupt the murderer masquerading as one."

Both men were facing the old man now, and his eyes had no twinkle to them.

"Admittedly, I don't have any proof. But I'm afraid I cannot quite forgive a man who burns down an orphanage. Seems to me the lowest of the low, wouldn't you agree?"

Tom still couldn't speak, panting slightly, but managing to glare threateningly.

"That was the home of hundreds of children, Tom."

"It was no home."

Both Dumbledore and Tom started at the whispered interruption.

"It was a prison. For the crime of having no parents. It was no home."

And suddenly Tom couldn't even be the slightest bit frustrated that he had had to rely on this man for help. He always seemed to know what to say and when to say it.

"Hadrian, you don't need to do this. You don't need to get involved with this man. Don't you see what he is? You can save yourself." Dumbledore's eyes softened, pleadingly.

"No. I know what he is. I know what he will become, on his own. Don't _you_ see? Don't you see that you're at fault here? You denied Tom the love that he needed. In another timeline, you learn. A boy grows up the same as Tom did, an orphan, and without any love. This time, you kept your eye on him. You gave him a loving grandfather figure to look up to, to learn how to love from, so that you didn't make the same mistake twice. And then, you used Harry Potter to kill the mistake that you'd made. You twisted his love into a duty to save everyone else by facing death. _You made a mistake_. Why did you let it happen, and why won't you let me fix it?"

Perhaps Tom should've been angry that Harry Potter was talking about fixing him, but in his current state, he wasn't strong enough to argue, and maybe that was reason enough to believe that he did in fact need fixing.

"A time-traveller." Dumbledore stated. He looked conflicted, and maybe Harry had struck a nerve. Turned the tables, drawn on Dumbledore's guilt. "You're right, I made a mistake. But that mistake cannot be fixed the way you think it can. It needs to be stopped." He warned, gravely.

"I am not an _it_ " Tom finally seethed. "I am not a problem to be solved. I am my own person, and for all I have grown, I am stronger than you are, old man."

He had the gall to look pitying. "You are not strong, Tom. You are weak. Only those who have love in them can be truly strong."

"I _HAVE_ LOVE" he roared, whipping out his wand and firing a curse.

Nobody needed to be told to react; it happened instantaneously. Dumbledore was a good dueller, there was no doubt about that; with two powerful wizards fighting against him, Tom not even having to put shields up because of the bracelet, Dumbledore wasn't hit once. That is, until Abraxas stormed into the room and stunned him from behind.

"My lord, I was notified by the wards. May I be of any further assistance?"

"A silentium potion" Tom ordered, finally in full control of himself. The potion would kill instantly, but would be completely untraceable. "In fear of his bill not passing, he interrupted a meeting between Mr Potter and me and started to attack. We defended ourselves as appropriate, and he was hit by a stunner which triggered a heart attack. Suggest to the Minister a moment of silence in the Wizengamot tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord." Abraxas bowed and left the room.

Tom and Harry stood for a moment, in silence, allowing themselves to catch up with the situation.

"Tom?"

"Yes?" Tom replied, shoulders squared.

"You're not a mistake."

"I know."

They both knew that he really meant thank you.

 _Okay so to remind you guys, the next chapter will be the epilogue I'm sorry to say. I don't want it dragging on, and if you know any of my other works this one has been really quite long for me. What I will do, however, is try to not leave you feeling as if you haven't gotten enough out of this fic: if there is anything at all, any interaction or whatever, that has not yet featured between my Tom and Harry,_ _or if you want to see particular points of view,_ _please do let me know, and I will try to fit it in with the epilogue if I feel like it works!_


	14. Epilogue

_Warning: there will be smut, but I'll have it clearly marked out. I tried to make it as separated as possible for those who don't want to read but I'm afraid it sort of rounded the whole thing off quite nicely, so apologies for that_. _EDIT: I'm so sorry I forgot to mention anything about the Longbottoms, so I just added to the start a little interaction!_

Harfang Longbottom didn't have any laughter in his eyes today, as he visited Harry. For a while, they just stood in silence. Neither seemed to know what to say. Then, Harfang spoke.

"This isn't right, Harry. You know he has the wrong intentions."

Harry sighed, nodded, and sat down.

"I ask again that you trust me, please. Trust that I know what I'm doing."

"I trust you. I don't trust him. I could never trust a dictator."

"Harfang..." Harry pleaded, knowing that he couldn't say anything to appease his friend.

"I thought you were better than this. I only have to trust that the you I thought I knew will come through."

"I promise I won't let you down."

* * *

No matter how much time it was that passed, Harry felt as if he would always hold a place in his heart for balls with Tom. Balls themselves were, naturally, tedious, but of course it had been through balls that Harry and Tom had managed to breach the gap between them. It was a necessary social bore, but for them, it held sentimental significance - well, for Harry at least. This one in particular was especially important to them both. This ball was being held in honour of Tom becoming Supreme Minister, and Harry taking the place of Minister of Magic. Supreme Minister was, admittedly, something that Tom had completely made up, but a Supreme Minister was the one thing that Britain needed in this time of turmoil; muggleborn extremists were terrorising the British wizarding community, and a strong, stable leadership was needed. The public didn't really care about a made up title.

Or at least that's what Tom had thought. Harry was not entirely on board with such blind trust in the public's fear, and managed to convince him that people weren't going to accept such blatant dictatorship, and that he should at least give the illusion of democracy. So Harry came up with a few additional points, which conveniently led himself to a bit of power too. Though the Minister of Magic was now appointed by Tom, the wizengamot was elected by the country, which was actually more democracy than they were used to, and issues would continue to be discussed and voted on in this fashion. The only difference was that if Tom didn't agree with the vote, he could overturn it. This is how he would maintain his power that he so desired. In order to overturn a bill, Tom would have to write an in-depth essay on exactly _why_ he had chosen to do so, which of course the general public would never bother to read through, but would remain satisfied that he had a just reason for his actions. Harry would make sure to guide the wizengamot away from bills that Tom wouldn't like, but they would need that safety net for times when he couldn't.

Tom admitted it was a stroke of genius, but that didn't mean he wouldn't whine about the faff of having to go through all that paperwork just to make sure the country was how he wanted it.

And so, to celebrate this constitutional reform, which was incredibly well received by the people, thank you very much, a ball and dinner was being held. Tom sat at the head, with Harry to his side. It was not known that they were in a romantic relationship, though it was endlessly speculated that they were in a sexual one. They were always very careful not to show affection in public, though it was also very important for them to show a strong friendship so that the government looked strong. It was a tricky social game to play, but nothing outside the capabilities of Harry, and certainly not for Tom. Besides, the didn't need to show affection in public. They had the bedroom for that.

"The Malfoys have outdone themselves once again," Tom mused before placing another chunk of beef gracefully in his mouth. "I can't believe you were considering requesting the Rosiers host the ball."

"Yes, yes, you were right and I was wrong" Harry laughed. "Of course the Malfoys were the best choice, they always are. The food is exquisite."

He only received a satisfied hum in response.

"I was merely concerned that Abraxas may have been mildly disgruntled at the choice of Minister, him having always been one of your favoured."

"Don't be a fool; he would never question my choice in such a way. He should be perfectly happy with his role in media and propaganda; it is a vital role in keeping our country under control."

"True, true. Regardless, I was wrong. I could not have dreamed of a better reception for our claim to power."

"Quite. There is even a multitude of pretty ladies for you to dance with. I trust you did not go out of your way to include them on the guest list? Your sense of humour does have quite the self destructive nature, and you know I will not be pleased if they are here merely for their looks" Tom warned, but there was still an amused glint in his eye.

"I assure you, Tom, they are far more than just their looks. I have heard that they have the most alluring way of speaking; they're French, you know!"

There was a slight huff. "So long as you save some time to dance with me, and do not allow yourself to be too affected by their _alluring_ accents, I shall not complain."

Harry smirked to himself. This certainly was a wonderful world that he now lived in.

* * *

Several pretty girls later, and Tom was at his limit. Harry really did enjoy his ladies too much, though Tom had learnt to trust that Harry would never choose any one of those girls over him, despite how he spun them around the room. It was a subtle difference – of course it had to be subtle – but it was nothing like how he danced with Tom. With Tom, for example, there was never a break in eye contact, even to make sure they didn't trip over each other. They didn't need to. With Tom, Harry had that look in his eye... those beautiful green eyes were not alight with the joy of dancing, but glowing with the comfort of love. Tom had learnt to recognise these things. With Harry, he had little control over his emotions, but the logic of recognising these things helped him see that Harry was truly his. It had not taken as long to get through as he'd thought it might.

"My apologies, mademoiselle," Tom all but purred, charming the lady beyond her even noticing that he had cut in. "I would like to take the time to dance with my new Minister."

The girl only giggled, skipping off with a little wave to Harry.

"If I didn't know how you felt about parseltongue, Harry" Tom began in a light tone, pulling the other man easily onto the dance floor, "I would be concerned about the rival language of French. How very predictable; everybody likes French, why not take an interest in, say, the Romanian accent?"

"Ah but Tom, the French know love" Harry sighed, almost melting into Tom's arms in dramatics. "But you need not worry; I much prefer the snobbish eloquence of the English accent, it reminds me of designer robes, and balls, and elitism, and, well, you!"

"Ha ha, how incredibly funny you are" Tom drawled out, refraining from rolling his eyes. He knew Harry was being serious despite the mockery, but that didn't mean he had to tolerate it. "Now stop fooling about or else the attendees with be rethinking their opinion on you as Minister. We do not need a clown, we need a ruler."

"Yes, quite right, we have very important work to be doing. Just not tonight. We'll get started on the serious tomorrow!"

Tom just hummed in response. Harry needed to learn silence sometimes. So, instead of indulging the man with foolish conversation, he just led him around the dancefloor smoothly. It was a nice break from all the socialising, which had practically doubled since his new position; which was saying something, because he had always socialised a lot at balls. Harry smelt, even still, of freedom. Not freedom specifically, obviously, freedom would never have a scent. But he smelt of the outdoors, the smell of rain on wild grass, which reminded him in turn of the feeling he used to get when escaping the orphanage, the feeling of going on a gentle walk outside Hogwarts in the evening... All feelings that Tom had forgotten until Harry turned up. He had thought that such pleasures were useless, unnecessary, and he still believed that to an extent. Harry just, well, had a habit of bringing these things out of him. He knew he should find it annoying. That was always at the back of his head, really. But spending so much time with Harry made that a bit difficult, and, really? He was learning that he could have these feelings without losing his power over the people – they would never know if he didn't show it.

* * *

It was about 1am when they apparated back to the Potter Manor. There were still people left at the ball, but there was no reason for the two of them to stick around, especially when they had the excuse of work in the morning. Harry felt still a bit dazed from the thrill of the ball and how tiring it had been, but Tom seemed perfectly composed – he had been the safest option for apparition, and there'd been no question as to where they were both sleeping tonight. Tom complained that Harry's bed was more comfortable, but Harry suspected it felt more like home with Harry than in the house he had bought only out of convenience. He'd even asked that the covers were changed to a Slytherin green, despite denying any sentimental roots for the change.

"Harry," Tom murmured when they reached the bedroom, eyes locked with Harry's, smiling slightly. "We made it. The British wizarding community is under our control..." Harry felt hands come to rest on his hips.

There was a glint in his eyes now that Harry recognised easily, and felt himself growing excited just from the thought of it.

Their arms moulded around each other easily, sliding softly into place, and their lips came together in a gentle, but passionate, kiss. Tom's lips were soft and warm against Harry's as they kissed him over and over with such tenderness that he might've thought that Harry would break under anything harder.

While the experience did, of course, vary, the two men rarely _fucked_ as they had that first time, unless they were feeling particularly kinky. What Tom and Harry had both become accustomed to, found comfort in, was love making. Soft touches elliciting delicate moans, soothing kisses all over the body removing any trace of hurt; a confession of love in every intimate thrust, because really, this was what they needed.

!

As soon as they reached the bed, they became one. Harry had told Tom about his past mental connection with Lord Voldemort, and even though this was not there between them, it may as well have been for how well they could synchronise their actions – Tom's pleasure was Harry's, just as Harry's pleasure was Tom's.

It was simply magnificent how their bodies moulded together, and by some unspoken agreement, the two men began to slowly unbutton each other's shirts, cool fingers gliding against flushed skin as they descended, always a teasing finger beneath the belt before their hands would wrap around each other again, Tom's arms beneath Harry, holding him up, and Harry's hands tangling into Tom's soft hair or feeling his skin reverently.

Their crotches occasionally coming together in their passionate embrace, the two were able to feel each other's arousals, getting hotter around the neck knowing that this, in turn, would arouse them both further. Warm tingles went through Harry's body as Tom lightly nipped and sucked at the skin of his neck, and Tom felt it too as Harry's breath hitched, occasionally breathing out with garbled parseltongue which travelled through their bodies like smooth, sweet, chocolate in their veins.

Slowly, they each removed their trousers, any distracted fumblings going largely ignored, and for a moment they just lay. Warm pale thighs relaxed against each other. The same breath being shared by each pair of lungs. Mussed hair brushing lightly against both of their foreheads.

" _We did it, Tom_ " came the parseltongue, and Tom had wanted to capture the sound, but he only succeeded in sweetly kissing the lips that made it.

" _Wizarding Britain is ours, and you are mine_ " Tom hissed back, rubbing gentle circles against Harry's cheek, almost losing himself in how soft it still was, despite the heat that lay beneath it.

" _I am yours forever_ ," Harry promised, green eyes melting into Tom's maroon ones to let the sincerity sink in.

After another soft kiss, Tom's hands moved down to hold Harry's buttocks, and already their excited knowledge of what was to come was evident. Their were soft and pliant beneath Tom's hands, and he let his fingers sink in momentarily, before muttering a spell and teasing his fingers inside the man. Harry immediately reacted, hissing out in parseltongue again, and allowing himself to arch onto Tom's raised body.

" _Are you ready_?" Tom hissed, knowing the answer.

A desperate " _Yes_ " was the only response, and that was Harry's last coherent hiss of the night, as Tom moved inside of the man lovingly.

Gentle at first, they slowly increased the pace, both of their ecstasy echoing through the house.

* * *

Harry was perfection under the moonlight; red in the face, hair pitch black against Tom's white chest, body coated in a glistening sweat, and his chest still rising and falling heavily in bliss.

Tom was a painting of beauty; his usually neatly styled hair flopping over his forehead, eyes shining with triumph, cheeks flowering a rosy pink, and his heart beating a tattoo against his ribcage at this new feeling of love.

 _So this is it! That's the end, thank you so much for reading, and if you've been following the updates, thank you so much for sticking with it! I hope you all enjoyed the story, and if you're desperate for more, I am planning a new Harry/Voldemort fic which I'm quite excited about, so stick around for that and if you wanna know more about it review/PM me and I'll be happy to discuss!_


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